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I was the master of a palace that was revitalized by dirty cigarettes
A rising tongue wandered there among the tartar, tartar columns
I played all the games, I won all the worlds
And I sometimes whistled forgotten, forgotten choruses
So that of the present and its appearances
I had a subtle and languid cold disgust, languid
The sea was turning into an old cesspit
Where the young industry came to relieve itself, to relieve itself
The heroes of the future populated my existence
The monsters of the past were shaping our future, our future
How else do you expect me to love you?
Sheathed in marine silk buried in Gulls
How else do you expect me to love you?
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