Let the silence enter in is the role of the object 
Speaking of cycling, what a relief 
Unfortunately, this is not what it is, 
but of her that gave me the day by the [bad word] 

And suddenly, I remembered my name, Molloy, 
My name Molloy 
It's the name of Her mom 
Molloy, I say, my name is Molloy 
And your mother? What's Her Name? 

We realize of course, this is not the self that is dead, all other 
So we get up, and we went to her mother who feels alive 
We'll have now [bad word] out from this sort of gap 
It was so long that I lived far from the words 
You see, i was enough to see my city 
Since this is my city, not to be able, 
you understand 
You understand that all I needed to see my town for example 
cause this is my city 
The sensation of my body was enveloped in anonymity often difficult to penetrate, 
We just see what I see, 
I know what the words know and dead things and it makes a pretty small sum 
With a beginning, a middle and an end, 
as in well-built sentences 
We invent nothing, we believe to invent, to escape, 
It is only stammer his lesson, 
snatches of a chore learned and forgotten, 
life without tears, as we weep 

And the [bad word]  
I do not know what it was, nor, consequently, 
if not less than [bad word] unshakeable confusion of things eternal 
In any case, a link without mystery, magic