# P01 The Man in the cold

I saw him in the morning  
a cold morning of winter  
In Paris, I  was quietly driving  
looking at the Eiffel tower.  
I just passed under a bridge  
looking at runners and walkers.  
Outside, it was a fridge  
not a morning for dreamers.  
He was sitting on the side,  
Just a blanket on the shoulders,  
his look lost into the void.  
Just a shadow to go deeper.  
Deeper in a lost story,  
the story of loneliness.  
No companion under the tree.  
Nobody to tell kindness.  
I even couldn't stop the car,  
taken in a death spiral  
that made me go too far,  
to visit an unknown goal.  
Next day, next week,  
he won't be there in the light,  
like a really bad trick,  
in my own damned fight.

2Dɛ

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