The Broken Bell
II is bitter and soft, during the nights d' winter,
You uncertainly twirled the pasta around your fork, eyeing it critically before putting it into your mouth. A globule of tomato sauce fell onto your knee but you didn’t notice.
D' to listen, close to the fire which palpitates and which smoke,
I’ve been having these dreams, I said slowly. I don’t normally dream in other languages, but they seem to be happening more and more these days. Do you ever dream in another language?
, the memories remote slowly s' to raise
I can’t really say, I don’t think I dream at all to be honest with you.
With the noise of the chimes which sing in the fog.
Everybody dreams, remember the REM study they did with the lab rats. The ones that couldn’t dream went insane. You might not remember them but you must have them anyway.
Happy the bell with the vigorous gosier
Ok point taken, I dream but I don’t remember my dreams. I suppose if there were foreign people in my dream they would be speaking another language but not me.
Who, in spite of his old age, alarm and quite bearing
I see. I replied. Well, have you ever had some sort of blackout where you can hardly remember anything you were going to say, and you can only speak the dream language but you’re too embarrassed about actually speaking it because you know your grammar is going to be terrible an you don’t know what level of politeness is appropriate for the situation.
Throw its religious cry accurately
No, I can honestly say I’ve never experienced a language blackout. Unless you count those times when I drank too much, they were pretty blacked out.
Thus qu' an old soldier who takes care under the tent!
I sometimes feel like the dream language is waiting for me, just beneath the surface. Waiting to pounce and strangle my everyday language until nobody can understand what I’m saying.
Me, my heart is cracked, and lorsqu' in its troubles
I can barely understand you as it is.
Can I ask you a question? When you go home and speak this other language, does your voice change?
She wants her songs to populate l' cold air of the nights
I suppose it does, it gets lower and a lot faster. Not like you, you always sound really angry.
II often arrives that its weakened voice
Well it is an angry language I suppose. Plus I mainly learned it from my mother. And you know what she’s like.
Seem the thick rail d' a casualty qu' one forgets
Yes, she frightens me a little. You also sound pretty exasperated.
At the edge d' a lake of blood, under a large heap of died
That’s because I’m talking to my mother.
And which die, without moving, in d' immense efforts.
