We never knew what country she came from
Nor her age or what her name was
But everyone nicknamed her the queen
In the end of Sainte-Catherine’s street and La Main
She’s been walking in that neighbourhood for at least 10 years
Alongside the despicable and the itinerants
But when we heard her accent
We doubted she didn’t come from Lac Saint-Jean
Every dusk shе took under her wing
Hobos and back alley junkiеs
Like a gardien angel from the sky
Which would have landed in the trash
At night with her pick-up she made her round
Distributing toasts and a bit of coffee
To give a little bit of warmth
To those who has winter right in their hearts
For those flayed alive she inspired peace
Her presence alone was like a balm on their wounds
Her gaze was a lantern
For the castaways of the somber taverns
Every dusk she took under her wing
Hobos and back alley junkies
Like a gardien angel from the sky
Which would have landed in the trash
According to Paulo a taxi driver
She would have fled the war to immigrate here
A couple decades ago
When they killed her son and husband
And what she would’ve found to hold onto life
Is to take care of the poor and the most deprived
Instead of living sad eternally
She had now hundreds children
Every dusk she took under her wing
Hobos and back alley junkies
Like a gardien angel from the sky
Which would have landed in the trash
It happened yesterday night the twelfth to the thirteen
When she got out her pick-up she felt faint
Near her place at the college’s metro
We found her dead in a snowbank
We will never know what country she was from
Nor her age or what her name was
But this morning people cried for the queen
In the end of Sainte-Catherine’s street and La Main
But at least she retook her wings
To leave for a world a bit less cruel
And even though she did not believe in god
It’s sure that she flies where the sky is blue