Du palliatif... (Palliative...)
Palliative, just to wait,
Think about doing after, later, maybe,
Even if we do know that « no,  never mind ».
Let the hours, the days, the nights go.
Laught to still believe.
Fuck to feel alive.
Have a little sleep,
So that we don't feel too numb  tomorrow,
So that we can still resist,
And tomorrow,
Go to work,
Eat just to be full,
Just to stay alive.
Be on the lookout for the phone,
Hoping for something,
Waiting for some news, an exchange, a  voice, anything,
Waiting for what?
Read the stories of others people,
Because it is easier than writing some,
Because to do that, we should imagine.
Watch those films in which we can find
Those pieces of lives, those fantasy,
Those things that we don't dare to say,
Those things that we don't dare to do,
Those things that we should like to live.
And then,
Go and join them,
Be drunk to dare touch them,
Get out on drug to forget them,
Sleep again
To talk to them tomorrow, maybe.
Wait, alone.
Dream, awake.
Smoke, waiting for a cancer.
Meet those persons that we believe to know
Because we are afraid to meet
Those persons that we actually want to meet,
Because we are a fraid that they know us.
Build up some societies in miniature,
Where we have the feeling
That we are apart
That we live differently,
That we are not like them.
Some societies in miniature,
Where we have the feeling that
We can exchange, meet, understand.
We didn't understand anything.
We don't understand anything.
We are already dead.
We are similar.
We are worst.
Musty hope.
The intellectual-rebel's supermarket,
Promoting the fringe
As the new ideal standard.
Lie in front of boredom.
Palliative instead of fantasy.
Maybe. Palliative. Maybe.
Ma poubelle à moi (This is MY dustbin)
Out-of-date produces,
Damaged packing,
Overproduction and end of market,
Your bins are filling up
With your unsaleable and unsold things,
A flashlight instead of our eyes,
We don't turn up our nose to your  rubbish,
Of course, shopping seems less smart,
You want us to make purchase,
But we can't or we don't want to,
And we dive, headfirst,
Arms in front, open-hands,
Unscrupulously and shamelessly,
We fill up our fridge,
Recycling the capital's wastes,
Our cupboards are the burgess's bins.
So,using bleach,
Kindly watchmen,
You protect your skips,
'Cause we just have to slave away at work
If we wanna be able to buy your marvels,
'Cause we just take advantage,
Us, the spongers,
Without passing by the cash-register.
What is not buy is stollen,
And when it is no longer sufficient,
You call the cops,
And you give punishment
So that the fringe will become integrated.
Should we have to laugh or cry about it?
You have reached the top
Of pitiful, of deplorable,
You have come to keep a watch to
What you however intend
To be crush, to be incinerate.
Some bins in fortresses,
Some wastes behind gates,
Are you that frightened about us?
Or about the lack to earn?
What is actually happening in your head
Of consumer-church bosses?
I even won't let you eating my crumbs,
You are my own bin
You know that
The proletarian is the burgess's bin.

Guerr'afrique (War in africa)
My name is Sozaboy,
I'm not a child anymore,
I don't play with a balloon anymore,
They gave me an AK47,
I carry ammunition,
I sharp knives,
I keep a close watch on prisonners,
The Chef tell me I'm a big boy,
I take the drug,
I take the girls,
The chef tell me I'm a good runner,
I pass through the minefield.
My name is Victoria,
My village has been ruined,
They came with their war,
To take the men for their mines,
We've been tortured by them,
We've been thrashed, humiliated,
Until there's nothing left...
From our broken lives.
They raped all the women,
We are a booty,
We are a trophy,
They stamped on our bodies,
Now, we are nothing at all...
My name is Evguenien,
I work in import/export,
Logistics and piloting,
Training and security,
Formed to manifold jobs,
During the war in Tchetchenia,
Now, I serve the highest bidder.
I run the gunsmith and the diamond  merchant's stake.
I remain anonymous for the discretion of business.
My office is where someone asks for my advices,
board of directors, embassy or ministry.
When some areas are too unreliable,
I secure the trade, no matter about the kind of the exchange,
No matter about what the deal is: weapons, supplies, oil or mercenaries.
No matter about the blokades or the customs laws.
I know the persons that I need to get in touch with,
I know whose palm I have to grease to make your  risky investments yield a profit,
to gratify the insatiable craving  of every war-masters.
To keep the trade possible, even in the middle  of corpes.

Ni héros ni martyrs (Neither hero nor martyr)
Heroes and martyrs
Holdind as a standard,
Corpes changed
Into politic argument.
When people's death
Is using
For buy oneself a new consciousness,
a victim position.
The fatal speech is falling down,
As a guillotine blade.
If they died, a weapon in their hand,
It's better, it's more virile.
You d'on't argue, and you slope
In front of the Heroes of the  revolution.
Stimulation figureheads,
Emblems, patterns to follow,
To keep cohesiveness,
And to stir the string
Of devotion for the struggle.
You shrink from nothing
As States who revive
Patriots feelings
Drawing up, in all the towns,
A list of their victims,
Trying to make us think that
People used to join the army by their own choice.
Their names carved in the stone
Are the last spit on their corpes.
And as official History
Is throwing in a forgetfulness hole
the victims of her system,
We must get
The corpes out of her cupbaord
So that she can't deny anymore,
But let's do it without glorification,
None cemetery is beautiful.
There is no reason to be proud,
Some Memory, but not any tribute,
Not any hymn singing with a hand on the  heart,
Not any medal for value,
As we refuse to forget,
We don't want heroes or martyrs.
Ni dieu ni mec (No god no men)
Him: Being a jail keeper of a life which isn't mine,
Even without have plan to do it,
Feelings of contradiction
Between my ideas and the way i behave.
Control the others
Just because of habits or convinience.
Her freedom starts to exist
Where i stop mine.
Him: Among anarchists,
Progressists and alternative militants,
All those beautiful freedom-fighters,
What is the sincerity
Of dominating people when they are involved in a struggle
Which make them loose their privileges?
We never release them
So that we preserveour stakes.
Chorus: Straight culture!
Family, work, crowd...
Straight culture!
Militants hidden under teir hoods...
Everyone stays in his one pigeonhole,
And the sheep farmer feel reassured.
As long as Masters do exist,
There is no freedom at all.
Her: Hegemony of their straight cis men culture,
The way they are fighting and their langage
Are not ours but are the weapons
Of the jailers who keep closed
The doors of our cupboard.
So how could we fight together
As they only put up with us if we stay unseen?
Him: Help, i can't understand anything,
Your words sound vague and unknown to me.
It sounds like another world than mine
Does exist in which some people,
Everyday, serve what i am and what i do.
I tread on them whithout notice,
Reflexes are firmly root.
Her: When we talk about patriarchy,
You deny the existence of the class system,
You criminalize our struggle
Even though domestic violence,
Rape, silence enjoined on us,
Intruding glance, mocking smiles
Are part of our everyday life
And are your tools of repression.
Her: In front of it,you describe us
As freaks fond of stalinists trials,
You talk about inquisition
In order to keep the weapons in your hands,
In order to make us inable to react.
You say that we are hysteric,
A bit lier, a bit talkative.
You believe that we are sad and boring.
Her: Your prejudices are mistaken
But our joice is getting bigger and bigger as you burn,
And if you say that we are violent
We will watch over so that you won't be disappointed...
No border (Pas de frontiéres)
Lacerated bodies
By barbed wires,
Corpes puffed with water
Drowned in a strait,
Sold bodies
By frontier runners,
Ejected bodies,
Deported by charter flight.
Lives teared by borders.
Fragmentation of the area,
A really convinient cutting out,
Which make easy to break
The Class integrity replaced
By a feeling of belong to
A piece of ground. Forget
Butcheries behind walls.
Never feel concerned.
To keep their power,
They daily terrorize,
Commandos and minefields,
Even in peacetime to keep
Those who would like to get over the  wall,
Even if they need to shoot
At point blank, even if they need to
Hunt down civils until they all die.
Lacerated bodies
By barbed wires,
Corpes puffed with water,
Drowned in a strait,
Tortured bodies
By the army,
Sacrified bodies
For national stake.

The second rape (Aus Rotten)  (Le second viol)
Toutes les 45 secondes, une femme est violée,
Notre culture sexiste ne laisse aucun échappatoire,
Ce crime violent est loin d'être commis dans l'ombre
Quand la proportion de victime est de 1 sur 3
La société conditionne les hommes à être des violeurs
Et notre indifférence perpétue cette situation
Avec un langage péjoratif qui déshumanise
Et permet aux hommes de se victimiser.
L'imagerie porno dresse le portrait
Des femmes comme proies sexuelles légitimes.
Puisque le sexisme fait partie intégrante du système judiciaire,
Ce n'est pas surprenant de voir, dans les cours de justice
Que les rôles de l'agresseur et de la/du survivantE sont inversés
Et que la majorité violée n'est jamais prise en compte.
La menace du viol est constamment présente,
C'est comme un poison dont l'air est saturé,
Une société rongée par une infection cancéreuse
         Dans laquelle les hommes savent qu'ils peuvent faire ce que bon leur semble.
Dis-moi quelle est la peine encourue?
Dis-moi combien de temps de taule?
Puisqu'une femme sur trois subira un viol,
Dis-moi ce qu'ils prendront pour ça?
Tu me vois en chemise moulante,
En talons hauts et en mini-jupe,
Les femmes sont victimes de ton désir,
Tu dis que tu ne peux pas résister à l'incendie prédateur qui est en toi.
Dis-moi pourquoi je suis coupable et accusée?
Dis-moi, quand je suis frappée et violée,
Quand c'est mon corps qui a été violé et sali,
Dis-moi pourquoi est ce mon procès qu'on fait?
Avocat de la défense: Connaissez-vous l'homme qui vous a soi-disant violée?
Victime: Oui, je connais l'homme qui m'a violée.
A: Et cet homme, ne serait-il pas un de vos amis?
V: Eh bien, je pensais qu'il était un de mes amis.
A: Et aviez-vous bu le soir où il vous a soi-disant attaqué?
V: J'avais bu un verre ou deux, mais est-ce que c'est un crime?
A: C'est moi qui pose les questions, si ça ne vous dérange pas.
Qu'est-ce que vous portiez, comment vous comportiez-vous?
V: Ma garde-robe n'est pas une invitation aux hommes à m'agresser,
Je n'ai pas agi de quelque sorte pour créer cette situation.
Pourquoi c'est moi qui suis jugée? Qu'est-ce que j'ai fait de mal?
A: Pourriez-vous dire au jury pourquoi vous vous êtes laissée faire?
V: J'étais sous le choc, je ne pouvais pas l'arrêter.
 A: Vous dites avoir été violée, mais qu'est-ce qu'on en sait?
V: J'ai dit non, j'ai dit non, j'ai dit NON, NON, NON
A: Ne seriez-vous pas juste une femme méprisante?
V: Je suis une femme qui a été violée et brisée
A: Votre Honneur, je demande que cette affaire soit classée,
Les accusations ne reposent que sur ce qu'elle dit de lui.
Je n'ai que peu de traces sur le corps
Et j'ai bu pendant la fête
Mais quand je suis allée dans sa chambre,je n'aurais jamais pensé
Qu'il aurait forcé mon NON à signifier OUI.
Dis-moi pourquoi je suis coupable de ce crime?
Dis-moi pourquoi toute la responsabilité est sur moi?
Quand les femmes subissent un second viol pendant les procès
Les cours de justice aident les agresseurs à violer et à salir.