L'air est fonc, la nuit est triste, je me trouve sans sommeil et je gmis. Personne ne s'inquite quand un homme devient fou: Il est dsol, Dieu est heureux. L'ombre change en os.
Chaque ombre a un nom; Quand je me pense au mien gmir, j'entendent des rumeurs d'une telle renomme. Pas pour la fiert, mais seulement la honte, ombre change en os.
Quand je rougis je pleurer pour la joie, et le rire chute de moi comme une pierre: Le rire de vieillissement du garon pour voir les morts toujours jeunes si effarouchs. L'ombre change en os.
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