Poeme : P.

Sitting at the back of the room
Like a flower who will never bloom
Silence is his worst enemy
Patience, his best quality.

His head in the stars
He waits for his lucky one
He waits for his scars
To be healed by someone

He flees in his daydreams
Blames the angel who ignores him
Put his life into the night hands
Smoke clouds become his best friends

So his face turns paler than the moon
His hair seems to be combed by a typhoon

But in his eyes you can see
Something hidden
Deeply inside him
Something of a rare beauty
It is safe and truly nice
That’s what we call, a SOUL

sitiŋ a tə bak ɔf tə ʁum
likə a flɔwœʁ wo wij nəve blum
silɑ̃sə is is wɔʁst ɑ̃nəmi
pasjɑ̃sə, is bεst kaliti.

is əad ɛ̃ tə staʁ
ə wε fɔʁ is lyki ɔnə
ə wε fɔʁ is skaʁ
to bə əalεd bi sɔməɔnə

ə fliz- ɛ̃ is dεdʁəam
blamə tə ɑ̃ʒεl wo iɲɔʁəz- im
pyt is lifə ɛ̃to tə niɡt-ɑ̃
smɔkə klud bəkɔmə is bεst fʁjɛ̃d

so is fasə tyʁn pale tɑ̃ tə mun
is-εʁ sim to bə kɔ̃bεd bi a tifun

byt ɛ̃ is εjz- iu kɑ̃ si
sɔmεtiŋ idɛ̃
dipli ɛ̃sidə im
sɔmεtiŋ ɔf a ʁaʁə boti
it is safə ɑ̃d tʁyli nisə
tatεs wa wə kal, a sul