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The confused pendulum clock twirls Deodatus.
The tyrant Dionysius of Syracuse isn't far of collapse.
The brain full of tarantulas,
he has put his sword on Damocles
in a drunkenness state during Bacchanalia.
Don't forget, the time - a great void from which
you throw yourself at bungee jumping
provoking a drastic fight.
Make money and then all lose
- the other side of the medal.
This guy is lost - no landmarks.
He has broke The Tablets of Stone.
Tic, Tac, Click, Clack,
the clock turns, he searches but what ?
One heap of concepts, precepts,
the past is a torch enlightening his ambiguous path.
In any case, where he spits,
it doesn't licks anymore.
Disoriented, to be out of breath,
touches the bottom, goes apeshit.
Kippah, Keffiyeh, Salâm, Shalom,
Hello Belial ? Where are the good, the evil ?
Through the time Our Lady
he saw pogroms, all a program.
Of there Game Boy to the Playstation,
of Sanskrit to the Greek
passing by the Aramaic, the Latin,
the clock of poet turn metic.
The maps have evolved since Marinus of Tyre.
On an Erik Satie's Gnossienne,
the user of satire wants
- the Fountain of Youth -
his source of energy.
Under the Nefertiti's wise eye
the man without age removes itself.