Preview screening VI

L'INCONNUE DES VALSES

Your grave will buy us bread,

all kinds of pain,

as French is cheap

and Red is free.

I never could obtain

Its thanks in singing.

I ain’t a painter,

yet your grey is green,

your two are three.

My brain is swinging

as your river Seine

and lingering.

Your grave will eat its greed,

its greatness.

Unconscious of grief

you’ll smile and smile again,

yet water only grins

‘Good riddance’.

There’s nothing else to gain

In dance, in gratitude,

but tide and algae.

Its density, you, dunce,

have never understood,

not once.