Tree without root

The rain, the snow, all the time. The rain, the snow, indefatigably. Windscreen wipers to sweep them. The sleepy eyes. The road there to take place. The rain, the snow, the cold. A yawn, shudders. You and I shaky. The bulk ideas. The head in the bag. The desire to run away forward, behind. By breaking our barriers. Invisible. Impossibles. Twilight of our calculations. Symbiosis of an ultimate thing. At night, in the black, without knowing. Where we go. Any law. Applying there. The only law. To roll the half-opened eyes, the agglomerated thoughts. In the cement of our agonies. Tree without root. In the leaves of sad appearances. The rain, the snow, all the time. The whistling of the wind. The scream reminding to us. These stabbing complaints which haunt us. The spectres of our regrets which tempt us. Without succeeding in releasing them, in crushing them, in poisoning them. Of a wild flight in the rain, the snow, indefatigably. At the heart of the storm of our time. Infinitely. Up to the firmament. Of a moonless night. Go up the fury to control nothing more. The weakness appears to let go. One by one. Everything escapes, shies away. I touch your dress. The last talisman. The rain, the snow, indefatigably. Endlessly, so fast, so slowly. You who sleeps. I who play dead. The bends which are linked. The trees which prostrate themselves. The ghosts who wake up. The rain, the snow, all the time. I stay up your sleep. At the end of the road. We shall abandon our doubts. On the ground our weapons of mercenaries. Abandoning our hell. I make you the promise. More real than our caresses. We have the magic. To invent a new life.