Pour Pierre:

                                            Un jour, finir pêcheur
                                       Parce que ça grandit l'homme.
                                                   Heureux comme ça,
                                                Pas gagner plus d'argent.
                                                       Le matin, me lever,
                                                   Pas connu, pas guetté,
                                                      Parce que ça fait mal,
                                                    Ça fait mal a l'homme,
                                                               La célébrité.
                                                         Finir dans l'eau salée,
                                                         Juste savoir compter,
                                                              Vider le sablier
                                                             Et puis tout oublier
                                                     Parce que ça grandit l'homme,
                                                             De vivre sans parler,
                                                               Vivre sans paroles
                                                          Et d'apprendre à se taire,
                                                                 Regarder sans voir
                                                               Les enfants qui dansent
                                                                      Au bord du miroir.

                                                            Mais c'est toujours trop loin,
                                                                    Toujours dans le noir,
                                                                              Inaccessible,
                                                                  Pareil au cœur de la cible.

                                                                    Un jour, finir pêcheur,
                                                               Que personne s'en souvienne,
                                                                         L'écrive ou le dise,
                                                                                 Vider sa valise
                                                                           Et brûler les journaux,
                                                                           Les tapis, les photos,
                                                                       Sans rien vouloir apprendre
                                                                    Pour que les enfants sachent
                                                                         Qu'on va quelque part
                                                                            Quand on oublie tout,
                                                                           Qu'on oublie les coups,
                                                                       Qu'on déplie, qu'on secoue,
                                                                           Que la folie s'attrape,
                                                                           Qu'on déchire la nappe,
                                                                              Maladie tout à coup
                                                                           Que tu portes à ton cou
                                                                       Comme un collier de fleurs,
                                                                        De larmes et de couleurs.
                                                                             Un jour, finir pêcheur,
                                                                                    Mollusque divin,
                                                                                 Peau de parchemin.

                                                                          Mais c'est toujours trop loin,
                                                                                  A portée de la main,
                                                                                          Inaccessible,
                                                                              Pareil au cœur de la cible.

                                                                               Un jour, finir pêcheur,
                                                                             Tuer le mal de l'homme,
                                                                                  Se libérer de tout,
                                                                              Prendre dans la mer
                                                                            Les coraux, les vipères,
                                                                             Et tout ça dans la main,
                                                                           Sans lumière et sans gaz
                                                                          Et sans barbe qu'on rase,
                                                                              Un jour, finir pêcheur,
                                                                                Avaler le compteur,
                                                                                 Regarder sans voir
                                                                                     Le calendrier
                                                                        Qui tombe en poussière.
                                                                           Qu'elle est loin, la terre.
                                                                           Qu'elle est loin, la terre.
                                                                                      Le calendrier
                                                                             Qui tombe en poussière.
                                                                                Qu'elle est loin, la terre.
                                                                               Qu'elle est loin, la terre.