Le verbe et la beauté

"Our road is not right, it is sinuous, a waste land. It pushes improbable plants there. There is bottoms of bag, little bitumen, ground and mud, there are also public benches to sit down or make the nap. Sometimes when comes the night as the headlights are faiblards, we roll to judged. Our eyes are accustomed there. When the car is broken down, we walk. If there are no more turns we advance in zigzag should touch the edges of our imaginary, hawkers of an obscure legend to the eyes of wolf. Always the music carries us, our murmurs and our cries clash and become songs, words, rough, tender songs, critical words, visions, memories, poems of love. The tragedy hope. And silence. At the hour to scratch the skin of the world, we beat the ground of our feet fourchus so that in kind of the absurd stories of fragile demons with human face. That our laughter resounds in the dark and frozen corridors standard. Then alleviated our savage hearts and our tattooed hearts take again the road which is not right..." Delfino