I really wish I was a freethinker,
be deaf to the growling of the guts of so many people, or their weeping, or their pain,
to establish myself as a politically-correct independent philosopher,
handle myself appropriately with everyone.

I really wish I could join the pacifists,
barefoot, giving away flowers plucked from some pot,
without having to turn the other cheek to anyone,
not to be threatened by any undesirables.

The fact is that commonplace misseries affect me,
those of the supermarket, of the Metro¹, of the sidewalks,
also those more distant ones,
those of the dry deserts, those of the green rainforests.

The fact is that I sympathize with
some of those warriors of the dusk,
who crack open their chests to be heard
who will die in some corner, shot down.

I'd like to be smarter, stop myself from getting involved,
know myself free of guilt and clean of sin,
and be a charitable soul: Maria Goretti or a saint,
suffering just a bit, just my due.

To lack knowledge of politics and its news,
convincing myself it's a spiderweb, a nest of scorpions,
and mutilate my soul and my social animal's essence,
know myself superior to so much frivolity.

The fact is that I'm maybe too deeply affected by,
the sorrow of the suburbs, the urban tragedy,
to know that we will become cannibals soon,
and that there won't be enough flesh for everyone.

The fact is that maybe I'm too deeply affected by,
having so much fear of walking out of my front door,
see my city burning or the pavement bleeding.
Perhaps I should pay less attention to the news.

I'd like to be smarter, play well the role,
free myself from labels, including that of 'man',
and understand that only I understand myself,
and no-one else,
be a good, straight and respectable citizen.

Omit from my songs
words like comrade, worker,
justice, guerrilla, peace, starvation or fear,
and speak of love, of plesant things, of my memories
tell some funny story
from when I was a teenager.

The fact is that commonplace misseries affect me,
those of the supermarket, of the Metro¹, of the sidewalks,
also those more distant ones,
those of the dry deserts, those of the green rainforests.
The fact is that I sympathize with
some of those warriors of the dusk,
who crack open their chests to be heard
who will die in some corner, shot down.