Three matches lit one by one in the night
The first to see your face in its entirety
The second to see your eyes
The last to see your mouth
At Bataclan around 9.45 p.m. they opened fire
They were surprised at how quick we dropped
They reloaded just three times
The music all around reminded them of our
As they took a few follow-up shots on our heads
And we were all quiet after that
But our corpses are still rolling
And kill them again if they ever stop rolling
*The fragment in italics used in the beginning of the poem is from Jacques Prévert’s Parole.
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