Ô, l’ange, l’enfant, là, dans son berceau Oui, celui-là même qui dort! Ô, le blanc, le doux sein du Seigneur Qui donne la vie, et commande la mort…
In the end, who’s complaining of inner pain ? Even if he’s not crying, she knows things won’t remain the same
Ô, l’étoffe, la plume, Elle approche Non, pas de mal, elle est celle qui veille Et qui éteint
In the end, who’s complaining of inner pain ? Even if she’s just trying to find a way that proves she’s there Choking the fruit, she reveals the tree but denies the roots Of a mother nature -not “Mother Nature”, not this one- And as the cries fade she howls inside :
Free my cage, open the Bird And devour the Queer inside.
In The Hand The pillow The throat The sigh The sacred union And after the last second Abortion of light In the guts of the opened bird Away away Free my cage open the bird oh free my cage open the bird Cage above, Cage besides, Cage within Free my cage open the bird oh free my cage open the Void…