Paris In The Rain

He came down to Paris
In his seventeenth year
High on himself
In the numb dead of summer
Looking for something
Realer than real
Richer than riches
Louder than thunder
When he came to Paris in the rain
High on the harvest
Of his beautiful brain
How beautiful his brain
September time
Trees full of leaves
Slowly turning gold
And Arthur free
He came down south
High on the train
Summoned by the poet
Paul Verlaine
He slept in the squares
Sang in the rain
Rapped on doors
And knew no shame
Carrying lice
He changed his name
Though the women were disgusted
And the men damned his name
But the boy was untouchable
He came down to Paris
Singing je m’appelle voyant
(last line translates «I am a seer/ a prophet»)