The Hills of Paris

Jump, fall, rip off your knees Start again
Jump, fall, rip off your knees Start again
Jump, fall, rip off your knees Start again

The sun keeps on the beat on my neck
I look unfavorably at all that I have to cross
The sun keeps on the beat on my neck
At the top of this hill, 21 centuries contemplate us

With Stan Smiths on, from above, I get ready for
A sprint toward beyond nowhere and more

The Ballet of unfinished races
The daily challenge we try to rise to

The sun keeps on the beat on my neck
Jet-propelled sneakers, I am ready, the slope appears
From Menil’, my heart is only beating to mess up the descent

Passing the look of the passers-by,
Will unsupported supporters go to join my aimless past, tired alas! of the hill’s excess?

On the hills of Paris, we’re dancing on every front
A carnival of cavalcades, we swallow ‘cause our caravans of skulls confess we’re only carne at attention
I tumble down proudly in my gringo shoes
My ragga-dancehall feet around calypso passers-by
Slices of life, rainbows of skins, parade right before my eyes
Here, comfort and misery are sharing heavens and hell

Jump, fall, rip off your knees Start again
Jump, fall, rip off your knees Start again

I run, I sprint, I hurtle down, I hoi, I giddy up,
Fragment of a scattered objective that my strides are challenging

I spread my tiny legs so much so I never finish expanding

I’m a giant, Paris! So look up for a while!
I got colossus’ legs to cross through the crowd
To step over the spooks that babble lies

That gulp down the gawkers with dangling bags full of baubles
Bedlam of Babylon

My previously pure lungs drink your noxious air
Both Atlas carrying out his chore and incisive Sisyphus
I’m rolling down my bundle of nerves through the hills of Paris, my town
I gained such a torso that your buildings get only to my ankles!

And my gigantic arms fall down on you
Like oxymoron shadows on your philosopher sun

Paris! I rip off your graves single-handedly
And my fingers are little skeletons dancing in the cemetery of the Father
The flesh comes alive when my shoes hit the pavement

Speed and anguish turn my head into a pierced basket
Psycho Paris, qu’est-ce que c’est ? 

And void aspire to more friction
My steps through the passers-by splutter their diction:

Asphalt. Void. Asphalt. Void. 30 times. Asphalt. Void. Sweat.
Pedestrian light, red. Sky, blue. Bitumen, gray. Traffic light, red. Pedestrian light, green.

The sun keeps on the beat on my neck

Asphalt. Void. Asphalt. Void. Acceleration. Asphalt. Jump. Suspension.

Paris, look at me, I’m flying! Above all the regrets and all the abuses
Paris! I’m throwing up all the alcohol I never drank

Paris, I’m not starving at your roofs
Although, they still tie my stomach in knots

Paris, I’m biting you hard with all my teeth
Even if you took four of them away
I’m biting you to draw blood
Paris! I learnt how to fight back

Suspension. Void. Asphalt. Acceleration.


And through my controlled fall, I got my eyes focused on the absence of goal,
That we reach even though
‘Cause in the crazy ride of our apragmatic hopes,
We’re all chasing something

Wealth. Love. Oblivion.

They are those who gently wait down the hill

But throughout all this running through Paris, with Death on our heels,

We sometimes miss their rendez-vous
Because Paris, sometimes, it’s just

Jump, fall, rip off your knees And start again

And when we run through Paris, we redefine its distances
And we adjust the time
We have just the time to hold five fingers, already small, already going away
In rhythm with the steps which hit the pavement,
Just enough time for some “Hi, guy!” “What’s up?” “Bye!” “See you around”

And we all go back to devour our little piece of you
And we fantasize you, then, Paris, just like we exorcise you
Without praying anyone whatsoever.

Because, as for me, I always have the skies in my pocket,
When I get deeper into your streets
Drunk with gravity, twirling absolute,

Even when I run down your hills, Paris
It’s always higher, that I climb you