The freedom is not a happy thing

My love:

the freedom is oration, annoyance and good luck

she's a jump of one in a million


and it's inviting to succumb into another social vulgarity, the same, all the same, always the same


the freedom ain't fantastic

she's just a dense and thick darkness, because...my love:

the freedom is fanatic, because, because...


...because she has swallowed so much shit that...she cannot stand the fact

the fact of everything being all the same, the same, always the same?


You well know (so well) that the freedom, like the happiness, ain't a happy thing, no, no

just a fire, a thick, dense and heavy fire delineated at every step on nocturnal streets


streets that [maybe] we still remember
like a battleship remembers the enemy shores

streets that are as real as the mirror of this world
of today

and beyond all its weakened barricades
and its aged Old World of mine, mine
 

mine.
 

beyond the educated and amorous Europe is the freedom, and you know that she is not a happy thing (like the happiness, no more, no less).




My love, the freedom is the fear of the inaugurated doors

which aren't the same, not the same, not always the same


jump.