Between Martigues and Marseille,
Dipping into the waters of Africa,
Fate has dictated that I sit,
Close to Fos the septic tank…
Where I was born the sea reeks of petrol,
Under an oxydized sky and a scorching dirty sun,
That falls as thick as a straitjacket
Over the company towers;
Where I was born sheet metal and plastic lie at the horizon,
Each piece of earth scorched like the Arizona desert,
Only vermin like to hang around
In this gigantic sauna and
Where I was born it is never a good idea to venture out:
The coppers have lost their balls in front of Arab gangs,
Who will stick you full of holes,
If your face is too pale…
Because where I was born is no longer France,
Our Gothic splendours:
Now decaying ruins of stone
Tagged with exotic swear words…
Audrey: ‘In the streets of France,
We’re punching kidneys and starting fires.
Lay down petrol, quick you can.
So that all the vultures,
Burn on the ground and expire.
If you don’t piss off,
Then we’ll **** you up.’
Blond with blue eyes, calcinated,
Planted in the wrong place,
Begging for my legitimate fate,
I suddenly had a dream of the North.
Of virgin wooded expanses,
Of a welcoming permafrost,
In which I would never meet again,
The eternal ebony abhorrence.
I had wanted to break Phoebus,
And shoot back all of his arrows,
So that he would crash like an Airbus,
Between Marseille and Marrakech.
And you appeared to me as a mirror, a brother in hatred,
A generous purveyor of twilights and ice,
A discordant horn of European enmity
Blowing muck on those who scorn my race.
You Black Metal! Forged in garages at night,
Like home-made bomb,
Made half from dreams and half from rage.
You Black Metal! Emerging from the bowels of the earth,
Like a huge anal probe,
To blow up entire cities!
You Black Metal! Steel cutter of throats,
Deadly national spur,
That makes Red roses bleed
You Black Metal! Suddenly you lent me your wings,
Like an immense boreal raven,
To tear myself far away, towards nobler citadels!
