Calles de París

Paris, with a slate overcoat
Paris, with a snow wig
The empty parks of children
Are covered in dream
In celestial dream

The wet streets collect
The song of a blind man, it darkens
Behind all the windows
The soup steams, the hot soup

The towers fall into the river
The bus crosses the bridges
They freeze over there in the museums
The beards, the beards in bloom
Of the kings

Lanterns that open their eyes
Guardians that close gates
Behind all the windows
The children, the children, will do their homework