Morphée is the French name for Morpheus, lord of dreams. Two alternate translations:

by Ben Ostrowsky:
Long day
Which ends inside a dark chamber
I am drawn from afar by the Sirens
Who, like a wave, take me
To the house of Morpheus

This sweet snare
Where musical scales, frenzied, play themselves
Takes me far from the city
And I flee the dances of privilege
Beautiful trap!

The old country is being sold at the gorillas' market
Resting in the arms of Morpheus, I (reign?)
Nemo in exile

On my fragile dreams
by Adam Hartfield:
Long day
Which ends in a dark room
Far away I hear the Sirens
Like a wave they pull me toward sleep 
This soft trap
The music notes are in delerium(?)
All those notes
Came far away from cities
I run away, I run away from privilege groups. 
Beautiful spell!
They're selling old countries on the gorilla market 
Hidden in sleep's arm,
I'm the king of my fragile dreams.

The phrase, "dances of privelege" here (les escadrilles du privelège) is probably a metaphor for office politics, and bureaucracy - the sorts of unpleasant social things that most people have to deal with every day. "Beautiful trap," or "Beatiful spell," (sortilège, which also refers to a curse) I think, refer to the lure of city life: lots of things to do, places to see, money to be made, etc, as a trap, taking one away from living a simpler, happier life in the country.