At fifty six, seven, eight, it doesn't matter
From street and sometimes even accompanied
A servant, without saying a word to you, precedes you
Stairways, endless corridors follow one another
Decorated with baroque bronzes, golden angels
Aphrodites and Salomes
If he is free, ®are you want the forty four.
This is the room they call here of Cleopatra
Whose Roccoco style bed columns
Are Negroes carrying torches
Between these naked slaves carved from donkey
Who will be the mute witnesses of this scene Donkey
While on the ceiling a mirror reflects us
Slowly I embrace Mélodie

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