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Head Against The Walls

There were only a few of them In all the

Each one thought he was

They sang, they were

To

But they sang the way you sack a

The way you kill yourself.

Frayed moist

Shall we endure

Shall we not

Your cloacal

We shall not wait for a

Made to

We wanted to see in other people's

Their nights of love

They dream only of

Their lovely flesh

Bees caught in their

They are ignorant of

And we suffer

Red roofs dissolve under the

Dog days in the full

Come, empty your sacks of fresh

There is still a shadow here A shred of imbecile

In the wind their masks, their

In lead their traps, their

And their prudent blind-men's

There is fire under

If you put out the

Be careful we

Despite the night it

More strength than the

Of your wives and

And we will

Without them but by ax

In your prisons Torrents of stone labors of

Where eyes float without

Just eyes without

That know

And that you should have put

Rather than ignore With a safety pin quicker than your

We shall take our booty where we want it to be

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Paul Eluard

Paul Éluard, born Eugène Émile Paul Grindel; 14 December 1895 – 18 November 1952), was a French poet and one of the founders of the Surrealist m…

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