I turn around a last time in this big sinister street, my god,
the fog insmoothes the tear that slowly drifts down along your
cheak. From the windows, dull and dirty, dozens of white and
macabre looks scrutinize us as if it was to announce that this
time will be the last...
And I think of you again, crouched on myself, where the drops
of sad water of an october rain trickle on my face, I think of
this langorous smile again, more precious than your nudity,
this carnal smile, ecstatic, that projects me for an instant
again in a fantastic whirl of desolation.
I'm the angel of desolation, the angel of my own loss, the
angel of a shattered life on the wild flanks of a smile.
And I pour a thin and sad tear that shatters itself in a thou-
sand pieces on the streets from where your look haunts and
(Forget me), ravage me and kill me. Oh drink my life in a
carnal impulse of desire, dream and fly me away on the peak of
despair, because I'm the angel of desolation.