Translation of Flamme, as requested.

I did not start the fire that I watched take you away
only you could spark a flame so hot
to send us both to hell

Condemned to break myself, to deprave myself
to strip myself of the human that hated your fire
To become a stronger animal
I will not regret you, regret the fire
A woman within a girl
A girl within a wolf
I will not regret the fire I gave you
Because watching you burn gave me
the strength to burn brighter

Amonst the ghosts of a dead dream
there is solace in their faces
in the pity in thier eyes
They know who is dead, and who is not dead enough

Like winter, and the amaryllis flowers within it
a new dream blooms in death
and the dead know who belongs here
You burned to death, but I burn within it

Condemned to break myself, to deprave myself
to strip myself of the human that hated your fire
To become a stronger animal
I will not regret you, regret the fire
A woman within a girl
A girl within a wolf
I will not regret the fire I gave you
Because watching you burn gave me
the strength to burn brighter

Death eats at you
but it looks good on me
I know how to burn brighter
I will burn a path home

I am a candle against my sins
I am a candle against my sins

FLAMME

Je n'ai pas commencé l'incendie
que je te regardais à emporter
que vous pouvez déclencher une flamme si chaude
pour nous envoyer à la fois pour l'enfer

Condamné à me briser, me dépraver
à me dépouiller de l'homme qui détestait le feu
Pour devenir un animal plus fort
Je ne vais pas vous regrettez, le regret de vous donner le feu
Une femme au sein d'une fille
Une fille dans un loup
Je ne regrette pas le feu je vous ai donné
Parce que vous regarder brûler m'a donné
la force de brûler plus lumineux

Amonst les fantômes d'un rêve mort
il est la consolation dans leurs visages
dans la pitié dans leurs yeux
Ils savent qui est mort, et qui n'est pas assez de morts

Comme l'hiver et les fleurs d'amaryllis en son sein
un nouveau rêve fleurit dans la mort
et les morts ne savent qui appartient ici
Tu as brûlé à mort, mais je brûle en son sein

Condamné à me briser, me dépraver
à me dépouiller de l'homme qui détestait le feu
Pour devenir un animal plus fort
Je ne vais pas vous regrettez, le regret de vous donner le feu
Une femme au sein d'une fille
Une fille dans un loup
Je ne regrette pas le feu je vous ai donné
Parce que vous regarder brûler m'a donné
la force de brûler plus lumineux

Mort mange à vousmais il semble bon sur moi
Je sais comment graver lumineux
Je vais brûler une maison chemin

Je suis une bougie contre mes péchés
Je suis une bougie contre mes péchés

HINDSIGHT

Does it take a fool to not recognize
a black truth, staring them in the eyes?
That the the crawling skin speaks the truth, a dark ivy of telling
and that the ringing in their ears is the bluebells, knelling.
A knock on death's door is not always a wish, but a question
for the sage to whom you might mention
the things you're afraid to know, but he does for you.

When I die, Sir, will it have been worth the lie
the struggle, the stifle, and the blind eye
to all the things waiting in shadows for another day
and all the words never braved to say?
Tell me, Sir, what'll it be-- a screaming cry
or a dejected sigh?
When you send me downstream, remind me
please, for the sake of all things lost for others to be
that I can choose it, that I choose it.

What's never spoken is not a lie
and what's not the truth is kindred nigh
if the betoken road is taken-- head cast down, eyes on the ground.
Do as they say, not as they do, dirty and down
behind their own blackened windows
and you'll never walk yourself to the gallows
but you will also never never smile, breath hitched, and jump.

CRACKED

Fingertips touch cold on a broken mirror
that shows too many faces
and feels like the parting glass
between you and I and our torn-out pages.
What was it that we laid on the battleground
staked on brittle words and naive resilience?
Is it through the looking glass,
a barren fairytale, waiting?
I would reach in and take it
but we all know that no amount of sun
can chase away the grays and poltergeists
wrought by something as unforgiving as time.
And then there are the maybe's
the greys and the poltergeists on this side of the glass
that remind me that I couldn't reach in if I wanted to
because somethings that are broken
can not be broken again.

APRIL FISH

Staring at the pristine white
until it all comes back- memory recite
Call to me, but fade away
until the line between reality and fiction
blurs to a sensory friction
A bell stricken on the backhand
an apotropaic rhyme
with a parasitic chime
Defiant, dejected, I let the pages catch wind
Little black flowers of a forgotten day
little black flowers bleed from the inlay
And my paper cranes, strung on a kite string
speak of an age, a life, a wish
remembered only, by the April fish.