When the whistle from the cloth factory
Comes to offend my ears
I remember you
But you are without a doubt quite irritated
And want to pretend you don't see me
You, who listens for the whistle
From the clay chimney
Why not pay attention to the distressed cry
From the horn of my car?
You in the winter
Go to work without stockings
Have no faith in sweaters
Nor believe in the cold
But you are the same article with no equal
When the factory whistles
It advertises you
In my eyes you read that I suffer cruelly
With jealousy of the impertinent manager
Who gives you orders
I live in the night
Am a very gloomy poet
Who will be night watchman
And you know why
But you don't know
That while you make fabric
Beside the piano, I
Make these verses for you.
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