alex chez soi

I once met a french boy named Alexandre.
I was very much in love with him,
as for him, well, he was in love with his work...
I trait which I will always admire.

This story is dedicated to him.

There was once upon a time

A house made of charcoal

And upon this same old time

The boy who made her whole

The house of witch I speak

Had no window nor door

And there are still some who wonder

How he did to get indoors


It so happens that the lad

Taken by the work

Forgot that to inhabit it

The least of doors would prove its worth
 

Once acknowledged the fault

He felt hard on the floor

And there he stood gazing

As if forevermore
 

Curious people would come

From all over the world

To admire the work of art

The house made of charcoal
 

Others would come

In an effort to approach

Of whom the intrigued young man

Wouldn’t even get close 
 

And as night softly fell

He let himself lay

Until the sun was born

Announcing a new day
 

And one other night

And one other day

And people left

Fading away
 

Until one day like any other

Announced but by a growing sound

The house shattered in to peaces

Bowing to the ground
 

Bond to hers as his life was,

the boy that we now know,

became, forevermore,

a ratchet of charcoal.