M-B-D

Metro – boulot – dodo
Mais ce tri-rhythme ne fait pas
Mention aux heures passees
Entournee de la foule des sots
Les inanites quotidiens
Qui font partie du vague
De violences et d’impuissances
Qui me pervadent
Quand on se trouve fermee
Comme un veau, sous le sol
Dans le foutu metro

Et au bureau – faisant boulot
On bosse, point. Et pourtant
Le chef, il dort dans son cabinet
A sentir couler du robinet
L’eau de vie et du passe
Vos esperances; amours frustres
Pendant qu’on fasse ses devoirs
Comme si on se trouvait toujours
Au lycee, devant un mec aine
Qui s’est convaincu – c’est pas a lui
De faire ce qu’il faut de quoi qu’il soit
Et tout ca commence avec un mot
Son bonjour-argot ”pret, le cafe?’

Alors, qu’est-ce qu’on fait
Au moment du rentree?
Mais dormir – c’est ca
Apres chaque journee.

——————————————

Tube – desk – bed

Tube – desk – bed
But this triple rhythm does not
Make mention of the hours spent
Surrounded by the crowd of fools
The daily inanities
Which make up the wave
Of violence and frustration
Which seeps into me
When I find myself enclosed
Like a veal, underground
In the fucking tube

And at the office – beavering away
One slaves, full-stop. And meanwhile
The boss, asleep in his cubicle
Listens to the tap dripping
The water of life and of the past
Your hopes; frustrated loves
While one does his duty (for him)
As if one were still
In school, in front of an older boy
Who has convinced himself it isn’t for him
To do what he ought, of whatever it is
And the whole thing starts with a tiny phrase
His greeting-slang ‘Is the coffee ready yet?’

So what does one do
When one reaches home?
But sleep – that’s all
After every single day

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