La Machine (The Machine)
© E.5131 (track 2) / protected by la SGDL
A move to another. An act to another.
A scene to another ? A picture to another.
Frequency and tones. From acts to pamphlets
In rythm.
Man is brilliant, but rather less, - admit it, my flesh, than the machine.
Polished, lubricated, ready for use, perfectly sparkling,
Ready to be under way,
Brainless,
Soon leaves the rails. The Loco.
It’s too late, already too late. Too late.
The Man Dressed In Grey could have hocked it
But prefers to develop it
And polishes it anew, its Machine,
Then, so as to end, it concludes
its race in scraps of metal, in brand new, re-ready-built
Industrial-commercial premises,
Before the settlement.
A crown of thorns affects me !
* *
*
Then appears on the thread, a Star called Flower.
At this time, the inverse is also true.
On the track, spill out, you, Man of the enlightenment !
You, Man of the simple wisdoms
On the track, spill out, You who have controlled it,
This antique machine.
And promise us the dream !
Create but no produce !
A crown of thorns affects me !
And promise us the dream !
Create and non-produce !
A move to another. An act to another.
A move to another
In motion
© E.5131
© photo: Armande Chollat-Namy
