I turn around a last time in this big sinister street, my god,
the fog insmoothes the tear that slowly drifts down along your cheek.
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 thousand 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. Yes, I'm...