«The eyes of fear are big, / while those of happiness are round, / festivities and injuries cause wrinkles on the face... / They started playing Bach / as the conductor quietly came out, / and everything calmed down, and all was back in place...»
«Now do hear the sound of trampling boots? / And do you see the birds fly off like mad / and women stare scrutinising routes? / I think you know what they are staring at. / / Now do hear the sound of drum-beat bass? / The soldiers have to say their good-byes... / The squadron leaves to...»
«The music of the soul is flat, / the music of attack is loud; / but make no haste about that, / you may be wrong in making out / that music of attack is loud, / and music of the soul is flat. / / The louder is the attack, / the sweeter are the lights around; / and that’s the way...»
«When I’m in trouble and totally done / and when all my hope I abandon / I get on the blue trolley bus on the run, / the last one, / at random. / / Night trolley, roll on sliding down the street, / around the boulevards keep moving / to pick up all those who are wrecked and in need...»