There is nothing we can Like a thread between the one and the other
Invisible, it imposes its links
In the meanders (wanderings) of the subconscious
It walks around with impunity

And everything shakes a little bit
And the rest fades out
Only in our bellies
A knot, a hunger.

It makes a king from a slave
And can damn the saints
The honest or the wise
And there’s nothing we (one) can do about it

And one resists it, one builds walls
Happy times, tidy (well sorted) photographs
Like a terrorist it pierces armours
One moment everything is wiped away

You crawl and you spy
And you beg for words
You read its poems and love its paintings (so here he’s using ‘ses’ which can refer to the loved one’s poems or paintings but also to love in general, so poems or paintings about it)

And you try to cross her path
Suddenly you are fifteen (again)
Everything changes at its base/foundation
And there’s nothing we (one) can do about it

It invites itself when one doesn’t expect it
When one believes in it, it flees away already
My brother who, one day, tasted it
Never again will you recover/heal

It leaves us empty
And more dead than alive
It’s him (love) who decides, we can only pretend
It chooses its paths
Its coming and going
That’s the way love is made
And there’s nothing we (one) can do about it
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