Putting Together A Flyer

Gregory Lemarchal-Je t'écris

golden voice of France, has died at 23 years in 2007 from the Cystic Fibrosis (a genetic disease, when the organs of secretion are not working, life is rarely more than 25 years) ... unique case, doctors wonder to this day - how could he sing? "... although would be that in this disease a persistent cough (because the lungs are not cleared)

I am writing to you from the pavement of our city, dressed up for Christmas,
Of Winter nights with a bitter-sweet taste,

I am writing about lit light evenings,
About adoring eyes of a little girl
At the foot of the big spruce on Fifth Avenue.

I am writing about the departure of a forgotten suitcase,
I am writing from a white lake, where the pair of skates.

I am writing to you from the desert, where the chip ship recalls of the sea,
I am writing about the land where the ground tend to dilapidated houses.

I am writing to you from Venice, where the lovers do not sleep to the sound of ancient bells
There's this year, maybe the snow will go.

I am writing to you from the sea, with the latitude of Gibraltar, my view is directed towards Tangier.
I am writing from Africa, where people are dying by the thousands.

four sides of the light, I am writing to you from the abandoned military trenches

I am writing you a kiss, from that bench in a Paris park,
Where two lovers enjoy his own eternity,
And nothing and nobody can stop them.
I am writing to you from the cafe, with an airplane wing,
Where are our memories are eternal,
And nobody and nothing can select them from me.

I am writing to you from heaven, part of the world,
Where light bodies of starving children silently rise.

I am writing to you from the street, where people sing and dance.
I write to you pen a lonely old man from a forgotten room,

I am writing on behalf of the powerless gods, because of which people are killed,
I am writing hand, people who do not abandon the idea of peace.

I am writing to you on the Seine, the Eiffel Tower there shimmers reflections of the past
I am writing to you about the recollection of kiss, the only one among thousands.

all four sides of the world - one day I toured the world.
I am writing about a dream so much love you ...

I write to you, blinded by the whole humanity ...