The pedant time’s vibrations
Fill the space with blue surges
And we float in this ocean
In our husk of nut
That hard bob.
- Piasters! Piasters! Piasters!
Cry the parrots of coeval pirats,
That carry the dollar’s sign
On the lapel of his coat.
And on the flesny faces of soaks
You can read only greed and vanity.
The massive copper pendulum
Screan irritable and provokable…
What is the veritable treasure,
Aim of our wanderings?
- - Piasters! Piasters! Piasters!
Cry the parrots of coeval pirats,
Not trust of them – happyness is not in brass.