The wind softly
Blows on the Meuse.
One couldn’t feel it follows its course.
Some people think it goes down
When it forgets where she’s comin’ from.
	
But please don’t throw
Don’t throw the stone
To the fresh water just coming out
Which crosses so many ruts
Where one takes the colours of mud.
	
Somebody told:
Where are they,
The snows which flowed last year
Under the Arches-Bridge? Even the most proud
Ice-blocks are gone.
Where are they,
Those bright lights
Which gleamed all along Ougrée,
When sparkled, with industrial life,
In the smokes one thousand eyes.
	
Where am I,
Myself?
I saw myself on the left bank,
But I took the ferry and on the other side,
I say that the people are too satisfied.
	
In my younger days, I was thinkin’
You have to know,
To use your time, more than one road.
I didn’t take into account
All the dead ends that bend your life.
	
So, let’s take
The Walloon boat:
To go home, could be the last,
And let the blottin’ of my song
Keeps you company for a while.
	
The wind softly
Blows on the Meuse.
The blast furnace, in Chertal, howls
As I’m goin’ away, thinkin’ into myself :
Where is life where it aint no change?