[et_pb_section admin_label=\u00a0\u00bbsection\u00a0\u00bb][et_pb_row admin_label=\u00a0\u00bbrow\u00a0\u00bb][et_pb_column type=\u00a0\u00bb4_4″][et_pb_text admin_label=\u00a0\u00bbTexte\u00a0\u00bb background_layout=\u00a0\u00bblight\u00a0\u00bb text_orientation=\u00a0\u00bbleft\u00a0\u00bb use_border_color=\u00a0\u00bboff\u00a0\u00bb border_color=\u00a0\u00bb#ffffff\u00a0\u00bb border_style=\u00a0\u00bbsolid\u00a0\u00bb]<\/p>\n
Un texte \u00e9crit en 2012. Hier je l’\u00e9coutais et j’avais encore 13 ans.<\/em><\/p>\n L’aube, le ciel, mon paysage<\/span> \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n F\u00e9vrier 2012<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_post_nav admin_label=\u00a0\u00bbNavigation dans les posts\u00a0\u00bb in_same_term=\u00a0\u00bboff\u00a0\u00bb hide_prev=\u00a0\u00bboff\u00a0\u00bb hide_next=\u00a0\u00bboff\u00a0\u00bb use_border_color=\u00a0\u00bboff\u00a0\u00bb border_color=\u00a0\u00bb#ffffff\u00a0\u00bb border_style=\u00a0\u00bbsolid\u00a0\u00bb \/][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Un texte \u00e9crit en 2012. Hier je l’\u00e9coutais et j’avais encore 13 ans. L’aube, le ciel, mon paysage La musique de d\u00e9cembre qui ne s’arr\u00eate pas Ne s’arr\u00eate pas It’s four in the morning I’m writing you pas du tout now Non You cannot follow us Le disque est dur, il ne se raye plus […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":" L'aube, le ciel, mon paysage<\/span> \u00a0<\/p>","_et_gb_content_width":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2064","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-troisieme-volet"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/voletsouvers.ovh\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2064","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/voletsouvers.ovh\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/voletsouvers.ovh\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/voletsouvers.ovh\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/voletsouvers.ovh\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2064"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/voletsouvers.ovh\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2064\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2068,"href":"https:\/\/voletsouvers.ovh\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2064\/revisions\/2068"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/voletsouvers.ovh\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2064"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/voletsouvers.ovh\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2064"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/voletsouvers.ovh\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2064"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nLa musique de d\u00e9cembre<\/span>
\nqui ne s’arr\u00eate pas<\/span>
\nNe s’arr\u00eate pas<\/span>
\nIt’s four in the morning<\/em><\/span>
\nI’m writing you<\/em> pas du tout now<\/em><\/span>
\nNon<\/span>
\nYou cannot follow<\/em> us<\/span>
\nLe disque est dur, il ne se raye plus<\/span>
\nC’est parce qu’on ne sait jamais, la vie<\/span>
\nSi sauvage la d\u00e9coupe en d\u00e9chirure d’une page…<\/em><\/span>
\nEt puis c’est beau, la rime sillage<\/span>
\nEt les orages gris marine<\/span>
\nA flanc de nos d\u00e9rives<\/span>
\nLa musique d’un temps qui passe<\/span>
\nEt qui poivre blanc les cheveux<\/span>
\nJe b\u00e9gaye les m\u00eames mots<\/span>
\nMais ce sont de nouvelles chansons<\/span>
\nM\u00eame si ce sont de Old Ideas<\/em><\/span>
\nJe b\u00e9gaye parce qu’on ne sait jamais, la vie<\/span>
\nEt je ne connais pas mon texte<\/span>
\nCelui que l’on n’ a pas \u00e9crit<\/span><\/p>\n
La musique de d\u00e9cembre<\/span>
qui ne s'arr\u00eate pas<\/span>
Ne s'arr\u00eate pas<\/span>
It's four in the morning<\/em><\/span>
I'm writing you<\/em> pas du tout now<\/em><\/span>
Non<\/span>
You cannot follow<\/em> us<\/span>
Le disque est dur, il ne se raye plus<\/span>
C'est parce qu'on ne sait jamais, la vie<\/span>
Si sauvage la d\u00e9coupe en d\u00e9chirure d'une page...<\/em><\/span>
Et puis c'est beau, la rime sillage<\/span>
Et les orages gris marine<\/span>
A flanc de nos d\u00e9rives<\/span>
La musique d'un temps qui passe<\/span>
Et qui poivre blanc les cheveux<\/span>
Je b\u00e9gaye les m\u00eames mots<\/span>
Mais ce sont de nouvelles chansons<\/span>
M\u00eame si ce sont de Old Ideas<\/em><\/span>
Je b\u00e9gaye parce qu'on ne sait jamais, la vie<\/span>
Et je ne connais pas mon texte<\/span>
Celui que l'on n' a pas \u00e9crit<\/span>
\u00a0<\/span>
F\u00e9vrier 2012<\/span><\/p>