English Version
gothique et romantique

In the prison city

Publié le 21 Mai 2013

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I walk in search of our past. From these strange days where one walked. In the streets without goals. Always attracted. By this sky under the cupola of glass. Oozing between the iron bars. Seen this prison where we were behind. With us to require how would our life on other side be? We remained so often to contemplate it. With us to question. Why ? I do not know. Were us satisfied? Of what we live. By turn in round. In this city where we had swept all the recesses. So far. Too much far. That we did not have of them any more a reference mark. Just attracted by the sky under the cupola of glass. To flee. To go where? Elsewhere to live worse? We told we it. To agree to remain. Together. Making pretense like our lives which tremble. Tasting its shivers in the cold of our prison. Oozing between the iron bars. Come from the sky dripping of the cupola of glass. Helping hands to see, for drinking. Drops of day. On the covered marble of ice floes. Falling from our tears love empties. Only. We were alone. In the prison city. Where we walked. In the half-light of these strange days where one walked. In the streets without goals. Without rebellion. Subjected. With the whims of this life. Imposed. That we had found. The day when we were born. Hand in the hand. Growing together. Accustomed. All to divide so much so that one resembles itself. Our eyes turned towards the cupola of glass. Had a long time the same glance. Land-mark. Returning low head in this hole where we placed our carcasses. In the night black waiting until the dark one is erased. Until the following day. Therefore without goals in the streets. Always attracted. By this sky under the cupola of glass. Oozing between the iron bars. Naked. Under the heavy shower. Of light come from the sky to try to understand. In the repetition of mow days to wait. Flooded, softened by incomprehension. Of our situation. Small fledglings. Frail. Without wings. In the large cage. Animated of if little rage. Until the day when you rose more. Ni, days according to. Then, never. Now, I walk in search of our past. From these strange days where one walked. In the streets without goals. Always attracted. By this sky under the cupola of glass. Oozing between the iron bars. Seen this prison where we were behind. With me to require how will my life without you at my sides be?

le sang de la nuit, la naissance de l'ange, decouvrez le dernier roman de steffan urell

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