Towards a city far away from riots and tocsin,
Where the naked knife of the guillotines gleams,
Suddenly, my heart goes wild with desire.
The deaf drums of so many days
Of rage and storm,
Beat the load in the heads.
The old dial of a black belfry
Shine his disc at the end of the evening,
Against a sky of red stars.
Footsteps are heard
And big fires of twisted roofs
raging out the capitals.