Facing the
rising of my fears,
watching them crawling inside of me.
Slowly collecting in one hand
that grabs the other by surprise,
pulling me along
for I'm blind
for I'm blind...
Someone outside is talking much too loud,
his angry call starts hurting in my ears.
I'll tear them off to get rid of all the sound
of wasted days, the shriek of stifled years.
All the faces that I wore on the back of my illusions.
All the lies I used to tell to lead a sheltered life,
forever weathered in the air
and only left with shame and despair.
The sky is crying out for the afterglow,
streaks of red and light splashes of gold,
burning down on the drunken crowd below :
a final burst before the coming of the cold.
I'll stay here waiting for the fall
of an angel's wing.
I'll stay here waiting for the slow
and be carried
by the wind.
Just one more chance for evidence
to show itself at the first glance,
at the very first glance.
I was so glad to meet you, son,
I hope I'll meet you once again,
once again.
But all the things I've done,
I'm sure I'll do it once again,
once again.
And I rise, I rise...
And I hope someday, you'll forgive me son
for the things I've said and the things I've done.
And I rise, I rise...
But I'll hope someday, you'll forgive me son
for the words untold ant the things undone.
I rise, I rise
on the wing of an angel...
Oh Lord, my son.
What have I done ?
I was so glad to meet you son
I hope I'll meet you once again,
once again.
But all the things I've done
I'm sure I'll do it once again,
once again.
And I rise, and I rise
on the wing on an angel.
I tell you that I rise,
but it's a lie.
Oh it's a lie.
Oh it's a lie.
Such a lie!
Philippe Pascal
Page créée par Pascal Bechoux, janvier 1998