Begging for another five minutes, five minutes it takes, five minutes have still passed.
Of a snail, agony can’t understand, Remi “Sans famille” does. Or, of a snail, agony can’t understand, a child who cannot speak does.
Just mother and her child, it’s me, a bruise also I have.
All day long at spring it is, to string out (records of) sonata, scores of people are there.
Over and over again, piled up films of her portraits, to be dyed in black.