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I saw him in the morning
a cold morning of winter
In Paris, I was quietly driving
looking at the Eiffel tower.
I just passed under a bridge
looking at runners and walkers.
Outside, it was a fridge
not a morning for dreamers.
He was sitting on the side,
Just a blanket on the shoulders,
his look lost into the void.
Just a shadow to go deeper.
Deeper in a lost story,
the story of loneliness.
No companion under the tree.
Nobody to tell kindness.
I even couldn't stop the car,
taken in a death spiral
that made me go too far,
to visit an unknown goal.
Next day, next week,
he won't be there in the light,
like a really bad trick,
in my own damned fight.
2DÉ›
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