Lyrics of 'Laissez vivre les squelettes. (Let the skeletons live)' by Daïtro
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Les squelettes dans mon placard jouent à la roulette russe avec les fusils de nos colères;
vieux, rouillés et dangereux.
Je les entends hurler comme des damnés à travers des portes honteuses, l'animosité d'un amour éteint entre les mâchoires tandis que mes mains déjà trop vieilles pour être les miennes se fatiguent sur les serrures.
Les vestiges de ceux qui sont passés avant moi sont les moulures de ce meuble hermétique et imperméable aux gémissements et aux implorations des vivants.
Il faut pourtant ouvrir ces portes et laisser vivre les squelettes, que je puisse enfin dormir en paix et trouver la sérénité d'une âme apaisée des fantômes du passé qui hantent son chemin, sa maison et son sommeil.
N'ai-je pas été suffisamment bon pour mériter pareil tourment ?
Pour voir mes mains devenir squelettes et ma fiancée un pâle souvenir d'une jeunesse gâchée.
Mon corps est un squelette, mon corps est un placard, mon corps est un fusil.
(Skeletons in my closet playing Russian roulette with the guns of our anger; old, rusted and dangerous.
I hear them screaming like the damned through these doors of disgrace.
The hostility of faded love locked within their jaws, hands way too old to be mine straining every nerve to reach the keyhole.
The last remnants of those who were here before me are nothing but mouldings on this hermetic piece of furniture, impervious to the moaning and pleas of the living.
But still we have to open these doors and let the skeletons live, so that I can sleep peacefully, so that I can find the calmness of a soul free from the ghosts of the past haunting its way, its house and its sleep.
Guess I have not been good enough.
Did I deserve such torment?
Did I deserve to watch my hands turn into bones, to see my girl turn into a faded memory from a wasted youth?
My body is a skeleton, my body is a closet, my body is a gun.)
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