My face contorts into a grimace,
From my eye falls a tear-drop, another, unstoppable.
Then my mouth tightens on its’ beautiful secret,
As my heart loves you, that love surfaces.

On my flag a crying friend, there, take your place,
Right at the top of honnor. I don’t want discretion,
My strength is red and tinges my foil,
Brandished by friendship, no weapon replaces.

It has frail value, but cites the past,
Me, in France, I am blessed,
As this vile act attacks treacherously all glory!

September of this century, announced as beautiful
Will no longer be dirtied by, those who would drink your blood.
God protect your dead, worthy to their graves!