Poeme : Childish

Wind of tragedy sounds so melodic
Filled or torn by sweet lyrics
Life and destiny seem so easier
Than puppet squares and theater

Dolls are lynched by heartless brothers
Yellow tears and stuttering talkers
Say me if the beard is real
And if come tonight he will

Sunshine dusts, icecream, a sundea
And all my fears will go away
My glance toward white clouds and high trees
God spits some cold droplets on me

Don’t waste your time and saliva
On politic and capital era
Just sing me a lullaby
To forget that I grow, still lie

Dad, make dark the skies
For my sleepy eyes

wɛ̃d ɔf tʁaʒədi sund so məlɔdik
fijεd ɔʁ tɔʁn bi swi liʁik
lifə ɑ̃d dεstini sim so əazje
tɑ̃ pypε skaʁəz- ɑ̃d təate

dɔlz- aʁə lɛ̃ʃεd bi əaʁtlεs bʁɔtœʁ
iεllɔw təaʁz- ɑ̃d stytəʁiŋ talke
sε mə if tə bəaʁ is ʁəal
ɑ̃d if kɔmə tɔniɡt ə wij

sœ̃ʃinə dyst, isεkʁəam, a sœ̃dəa
ɑ̃d al mi fəaʁ wij ɡo awε
mi ɡlɑ̃sə tɔwaʁ witə kludz- ɑ̃d iɡ tʁi
ɡɔd spi sɔmə kɔld dʁɔplεz- ɔ̃ mə

dɔnte wastə iuʁ timə ɑ̃d saliva
ɔ̃ pɔlitik ɑ̃d kapital əʁa
ʒyst siŋ mə a lylabi
to fɔʁʒε ta i ɡʁɔw, stij li

dad, makə daʁk tə ski
fɔʁ mi slipi εj