Guillaume Tendron

Consent

 To all the princes of the fly

To all the trigger maniacs

 The most known, the unknown, To you, the little guy at the end of the street.

Special message,

Open your ear,

 Stop taking back your bile.

 Do not burn ladies.

 

Don’t put your hand on her thigh, let Drop the vice.

It’s late tonight,

 

You’ve eaten well,

 

You’ve drunk too much. Your kids and your wife are in bed.

 You would like to go, dance.

But she is too tired, she is in mode Pajamas – pillow.

You don’t force her but… Now you would like to f… her.

 

Too bad you go out, the sports car,

You switch to animal mode, hunter mode.

Predator you think you’re the King of the savannah,

 Rather the king of jackals.

 Lonely, you hunt the gazelle on the track.

 

You no longer have clear ideas,

 Or they are too clear like a sniper with a doe in his sights.

Ready for anything, you have found your target, set your sights.

She is young fresh and vulnerable, not a fan of your male charm.

 

Don’t put your hand on her thigh and drop the vice.

 

No matter, you continue the hunt.

You buy her a drink, then two, a little bit of GHB to help you a little.

 Finally, tired, she lets herself go.

You take her a little apart, cool.

 You’re ready to move on to plan B,

 You’re talking about a trap.

She in the fog is about to live a real nightmare.

 

Luckily the gorilla from the night club was watching you.

 He catches you; you had already lowered your pants.

He tells you the little girl is not consenting; I won’t be your accomplice.

 

Don’t put your hand on her thighs, or I’ll call the police.

 You pretend not to understand. You give him 20 quids, so he doesn’t make a fuss.

You pretend, you don’t want to hear it. Too sure of yourself, you don’t see it coming. Immediately at the door of the club.

 

For her it could have ended badly. You are capable of the best but especially the worst. You get up, a remnant of good conscience tells you:

Don’t put your hand on her thigh and drop the vice.

 

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