How strange the days and months fly
Without the routine changes at all
How strange can the word "die"
Hold the routine in thrall

How this room with a single office
Can make one cold and shivery
How this air as chilling as ice
Was once warm as an eau-de-vie

And this absence is just as bitter
As the water of the Seine river
Where the pier's wall so abrupt
Hides a gendarme too corrupt

One guardsman of the City of Light
Was plunged into an endless night
Since he found a hat on a bridge
And a baton broken on a ridge

And in the night that claimed him so
The gendarme felt what he should know
Was to join his master
To live in a doubtful peace ever after

Nothing has really changed at all
For from all tragedies to befall
Suicides are the most violent
As much as the most silent