On a joué les tombes face à vos exils maquillés en pèlerinages, usés de cette soif du volatil qui refuse de s'étancher. Vous aurez beau entretenir vos petits arrangements avec la vérité, le vernis craquèlera bien un jour ou l'autre. Pas besoin d'être dramaturge pour voir ces ficelles toujours plus épaisses, à trop confondre feux de détresse et d'artifices. Faux prophètes. Vrais répudiés.
"We kept silent facing your exiles disguised as pilgrimages, worn this thirst of the fickle which refuses to quench. You will keep trying to maintain your little arrangements with the truth, varnish will crack one day or the other. No need to be the playwright to see these always thicker strings, confusing hazard lights and fireworks. Fake prophets. Real repudiated."
"We kept silent facing your exiles disguised as pilgrimages, worn this thirst of the fickle which refuses to quench. You will keep trying to maintain your little arrangements with the truth, varnish will crack one day or the other. No need to be the playwright to see these always thicker strings, confusing hazard lights and fireworks. Fake prophets. Real repudiated."