Sépulture

Sepulcher
If in a heavy and somber night
A good Christian, by charity,
Behind some old ruins
Buries your vaunted body,

At the hour where the innocent stars
Close their heavy eyes,
The spider there will make his webs,
And the viper his babies;

All year you will hear
Over your convicted head
The pitiful cries of the wolves

And of the scrawny sorcerers,
The frolics of lustful old men
And the intrigues of the black rogues.

Sépulture
Si par une nuit lourde et sombre
Un bon chrétien, par charité,
Derrière quelque vieux décombre
Enterre votre corps vanté,

À l'heure où les chastes étoiles
Ferment leurs yeux appesantis,
L'araignée y fera ses toiles,
Et la vipère ses petits;

Vous entendrez toute l'année
Sur votre tête condamnée
Les cris lamentables des loups

Et des sorcières faméliques,
Les ébats des vieillards lubriques
Et les complots des noirs filous.
----

Too tired to exist, really. Back from the land of too much intrigue and not enough forethought. I may see him tonight, tomorrow. Either way I am full of dread. I am not his type. Too sullen, too old...my alcoholism is no longer charming--just pathetic, it seems. If I were not here I would not have to care, but for the sake of putting on a show I must fight for something I don't even really want anymore. How do I put it down without looking defeated? It was beautiful and carefree once upon a time but now...well, who knows. By starlight I will let him go. I have another lover, a lover that tells me that if A comes immediately before B then A cannot be last and B cannot be first. I wish life has Not Laws. No, it just has jungle juice and public spectacles.

But at least they're scared.