Music boxes are machines
a little incredible, a litle magical and mystical,
sometimes poetic, sometimes sarcastic,
without being impartial
they play characteristic melodies,
ironic, aristocratic tunes,
which communicate a romantic excitement -
the perfume of revolutionary times
click, clack, plom plom.
Ribbons and ties in shades of scarlet
charming diplomats ruffians and pirates.
Tender ladies, beauties
one makes compliments to,
in the woods of Marly ....
But these acrobats, these aristocrats,
have no backbone, no heart and no feelings
for the machines are only boxes,
gears, wires, rollers
click, clack, tm tm
The exquisite Gavotte from times gone by,
first the dance, then the romance,
and the lightheartedness, the insensibility,
and then the porcelain arms open up
on lace tablecloths from Italy
the blond tresses the round waists,
which vanish under the bulges,
ther, one finds oneself in another world
in the mists of forgetfulness.
The music box will stop.
Music boxes are machines,
a little incredible.
