I was born stupid, I got clever with the madness of my mother.
I got clever with the noise of the profound childhood
And then stood and then walked. I got shrewd with the first crush
I got clever when she said nothing and I said no.
I was born sad but I rejoiced myself with the rhythm of the songs
And lapses of wonder until I could tell the lyrics from the growl.
I rejoiced as a boy like I was stealing, as a lad as I was scheming.
People looked the other way, I got away with what I wanted after all.
I was born and people could not believe me when I said so
For the origin had to be a balancing stone or a growth in the green
Or a divine word upon the sea, but not this – not this
Right amount of odd and not these voices breaking up in the palm trees.
Image credit : the Red List – David Lynch
Frédéric Benqué 