Prose : Dancing Witches

We entered the forest and there was nothing
Then we came down to the village. It was on fire.
The smoke went floating, dancing, waving
laguorously into our eyes.
It felt so good we were so high.
A strange smell of innocence took us.
In a court, tragic and melancolic moment,
she reaveled the ancien mystic secrets :

She came at night,
Her clothes were white.
She took their lamps
and burnt the camp.

Then she told me
A long story

About dancing
with the fire
that gods gave us.

Then we woke up
beneath the trees.
The sun was up,
Was a cold breeze

There was nothing,
we were higher,
she had found us.

When we came back to the village,
Was no fire.

wə ɑ̃təʁεd tə fɔʁεst ɑ̃d təʁə was nɔtiŋ
tɛ̃ wə kamə dɔwn to tə vilaʒə. it was ɔ̃ fiʁə.
tə smɔkə wɑ̃ flɔatiŋ, dɑ̃siŋ, waviŋ
laɡɔʁusli ɛ̃to uʁ εj.
it fεlt so ɡud wə wəʁə so iɡ.
a stʁɑ̃ʒə smεll ɔf inɔsɑ̃sə tuk ys.
ɛ̃ a kuʁ, tʁaʒik ɑ̃d məlɑ̃kɔlik mɔmɑ̃,
ʃə ʁəavəlεd tə ɑ̃sjɛ̃ mistik sεkʁε :

ʃə kamə a niɡt,
εʁ klɔtə wəʁə witə.
ʃə tuk tεʁ lɑ̃
ɑ̃d byʁn tə kɑ̃.

tɛ̃ ʃə tɔld mə
a lɔ̃ stɔʁi

abu dɑ̃siŋ
wit tə fiʁə
ta ɡɔd ɡavə ys.

tɛ̃ wə wɔkə yp
bənəat tə tʁi.
tə sœ̃ was yp,
was a kɔld bʁizə

təʁə was nɔtiŋ,
wə wəʁə iɡe,
ʃə-ad fund ys.

wɛ̃ wə kamə bak to tə vilaʒə,
was no fiʁə.