I cannot believe my luck
I cannot believe it still
There is a happiness beyond meaning
I don't have to take my life for ontology
I can just be mortal, godless, and free
No more time for a great incoherence
False hope, straining for the impossible
This revelation keeps one forever bound
Kept within a courtyard of infinite liberty
The goalkeeper is beaming
Refused to grant a meaning
To living
But it's not what you think
When you're living in a city
When you're living in a city
Transient flats in the middle of a city
Working hard just to live mechanically
Comes back, and you sit down at that table
Comes back, every day at the same table
And you shout: "I want everything explained to me!"
"Or I don't want anything explained to me!"
I believe that this denial precedes freedom
And I believe that other ends negate that freedom
And the universe of the anthill
Is not the universe of the dog or the office worker
In the inside out
Nothing is distinct
Bodies of water are bottomless
And do not cast a reflection
He lost his child
And the worn in his heart has undermined him
The feeling of weariness had not come
From a logical progress
But can the fear of the 'what'
O the 'What does it all mean'
And the 'Why do I go on living'
Be counteracted by negation and then rebellion?
In the old black box
There are only lost causes
And leaps of faith
To falsehoods or a ridiculous wilderness
But there's a finite type of joy
In the wreckage of a Facel Vega in Villeblevin
In impenetrable beams of a coffin
Things are in vain, things are in season
I accept the open-minded and play sports
I regress in solitude for no reason
But one must imagine me happy
