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If you’d gonna disappear,
in a random evening gloom,
my sweet one, my bitter one,
I’d sail crazy on the sea-foam
with a sack that’s full of clay
and a back-full of twig-sprigs
to reshape you from beginning
with the power of my hand…
long and monotonous labor
(just to bring you back to life,
lovely feme adored woman…)
me, a sick Pygmalion…
c’mon, wander, Galatea.
long and monotonous labor, x2
(just to bring you back to life,
lovely feme adored woman…)
If you’d gonna disappear,
be your death made of life only,
my sweet one, my bitter one,
I’d go to the ice’s countries
to rebuild you out of icicles,
dressing you into a hoar-frost,
after that be free to leave
wherever will be your fancy.
If you’d gonna truly fall,
at the moment of high reveal,
I would quietly come to you,
recompose you out of angels.
I would quietly come to you, x2
recompose you out of angels
After all this, I will leave…
humiliated and delusive
to the side where my home is,
a French roof in purgatory…
If you’d gonna disappear,
from my laugh out of my weep,
I’d find you within myself
from my DNA rebuilt
if you’d gonna disappear…
