A keresés eredménye

Bahia

Please
I'd like to go to Bahia
I saw it well in Aladdin's lamp
I'll book two airplane seats
Far away from the sounds of accordeon
And I love you
Caress me
 
In the morning
We're going to see the waters of Bahia
There is no hurricane, that's a pagan word
Days of rain those do not exist
Days of rain are not coming back
And I love you
Caress me
 
One after another
Untamed water and wandering water
Are making their roundabout near you
Days of rain, what does that mean?
Days of rain, that makes me laugh
And I love you
Caress me
 

Almost

In Lille on the Grand Place
in a subtle game of ice*
I had the profile of her face
She slid money under the cup,
Got up, I lost her
I should have...
 
It's almost you, almost me, those lovers in the yard
It's almost us, almost you, it's almost love
It's almost you, almost me
 
We've almost opened the door
almost passed under the porch
and then in the courtyard in bloom
the word that she said
 
I pressed my finger on her cheek
She slid her hand under my jacket
A little bit more and there, both of us, both of us
 
It's almost you, almost me, those lovers in the yard
It's almost us, almost you, it's almost love
It's almost you, almost me, those lovers in the yard
It's almost us, almost you, it's almost love
 
I almost wrote to you this morning
almost took my courage in both hands
To tell you that in Lille on the Grand Place
I had the profile of your face
 
It's almost you, almost me, those lovers in the yard
It's almost us, almost you, it's almost love
It's almost you, almost me, those lovers in the yard
It's almost us, almost you, it's almost love
 

And if in addition there's no one

Versions: #2
Abderrahmane, Martin, David
And if heaven was empty
So many processions, so many tilted heads
So many hoods, so much fear desired
So many demagogues, Temples, Synagogues
So many hurried hands, eager prayers
 
So many Angelus
Ding
That resonates
And if in addition
Ding
There's no one
 
Abderrahmane, Martin, David
And if heaven was empty
There are so many torpors
Analgesic musics
So many painkillers in these pretty canticles
There are so many questions and so many mysteries
So many compassions and so many revolvers
 
So many Angelus
Ding
That resonates
And if in addition
Ding
There's no one
 
Baruch Hashem, Inch Allah
Are Krishna, Hallelujah
 
Abderrahmane, Martin, David
And if heaven was empty
If all these tracer bullets
All these handguns
All these ignorant women
These orphaned children
If these lives that capsize
Those wet eyes
It was just the pleasure
To take out
 
And the Angelus
Ding
That resonates
And if in addition
Ding
There's no one
 
And the Angelus
Ding
That resonates
And if in addition
Ding
There's no one
And the Angelus
 

We're not in love

See, we’re dancing
Rocking our bodies
We’re touching
Kissing on the lips
There, now we tell each other “I love you”
But it’s nothing but cream,
Pink ointment
To hide all those things
Our guilty pleasures
So we don’t sleep all alone
 
Can’t you see we’re not in love?
Can’t you see we’re not in love?
Not in love
 
Well, now you’re alone
And your eyes are stinging
You’d like
To chat, to play tickle-tickle
But there’s no one for you here, you dummy
And it’s the same for everybody,
Get back in your room
You can meow if you want to
No one gives a damn
No one gives a damn!
 
Can’t you see we’re not in love?
Can’t you see we’re not in love?
Not in love
 
Thread, thread, wall
Couldn’t you see the hard limit?
It’s written: “Private”
Here’s our home,
It’s not yours,
It's just for us
If our home is everyone’s home
It makes for some dirty mix
And it disturbs us
Care about others
Care about others!
 
Can’t you see we’re not in love?
Can’t you see we’re not in love?
Not in love
 
Pow! Pow! Pow!
War is everywhere
We play civilian
Then we fire missiles at each other
Yet we do the peace pipe trick
But it’s nothing but polish,
Hair grease
To hide all the filth,
And chop-chop, let’s watch TV!
All those beautiful pictures are bleeding out
 
Can’t you see we’re not in love? ...
 

Jump in the air

Heavy is the weighty passer-by
Just as elephants are, too
Who does press men against the asphalt?
Their Daisies follow, looking at the effect they have
 
Who, from Equator up to the poles
Did put that burden we have on our shoulders?
Is it the sky, Baudelaire’s lid1
That flattens us, pins us against the ground?
 
I figured it out, how horrendous
Earth’s like a vacuum cleaner
That wants our body, sucks it down, hopes for it
She wants you, don’t let her do it
 
Jump in the air
 
Since we’re inescapably sinking
Into dust, lil' brother
Jump in the air
 
Hold my hand if you’re scared
My little kangaroo, my lil' sister
Jump in the air
 
We tense all our muscles
To escape from that flesh-eater
Cling on to the ceiling, grab the lamps
So the Earth won’t eat you, gobble you
Jump in the air
 
Fresh mimosa, soft grass
Being above or below doesn’t feel the same
Jesus was swallowed, but he resisted
He jumped up, so c’mon! Now it’s your turn!
Jump in the air
 

• 1. A reference to a well-known poem from Baudelaire, 'Spleen' : « Quand le ciel bas et lourd pèse comme un couvercle… » ('When the low and heavy sky weighs like a lid...')

Small announcement

'I'm seeking a sun girl to warm up my suburbs
A Provence girl for my escalators
I'm seeking a helping hand in the sleeping crowd
Write!
I'm seeking a flower girl near Saint-Germain
A boat girl to go out with on the Seine
If you want the sea at the bottom of the RER1
Write!'
 
[Refrain:]
I left the sun at the other part of day
I have no more than the night to find my love
I left the sun at the other part of day
I have no more than the night to fall in love
 
'I'm seeking a friend perhaps at the end of my country
With eyes like the sky and hair like leaves
But the sky is leaden and the summer is somewhere else
Write!
Write words to me that are impossible to say
Words of running water and words of forest
I'm seeking a flower girl in the town that cries
Write!'
 
[Refrain]
 
'I'm seeking a hawthorn girl in the maze of planets
In the years of prayer, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps
I'm seeking a love of light and I have a headache
Write!'
 
[Refrain]
 

• 1. Presumably the Réseau Express Régional, a Parisian public transit system

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Evander

1830 Love

In the park at the break of day
She wanted us to take a walk
I had to court her
But not love her
But not love her
 
She started a poem
And she ran off crying
From far away, she shouted to me: 'I love you'
In the wind, yes, in the wind
 
Me, 1830 love
Pathetic, romantic
I found it old-fashioned
Me, 1830 love
I didn't know how to understand it
And I stay unhappy, unhappy
 
In the park at the break of day
A carriage goes off
It's carrying my love
It's my love that's going off
 
I kept this blue handkerchief
The souvenir of a poem
And I walk unhappily
How I love her!
How I love her!
 
Me, 1830 love
Pathetic, romantic
I found it old-fashioned
Me, 1830 love
I didn't know how to understand it
And I stay unhappy, unhappy
 
I wanted to live in the present
A love of time gone by
When one impedes the wind
The wind can tear everything up
 
Me, 1830 love
Pathetic, romantic
Pathetic, romantic
Pathetic, romantic
I found it old-fashioned
 
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Evander

Life is not worth a thing

He looked at his life from all angles
to see if existence had some meaning.
He asked the opinion of lots of people,
all delighted to give their opinion about life.
He went through the smoke of whirling
dervishes,
of pot smokers,
and he said:
 
Life is not worth a damn thing.
Life is not worth a thing,
but when I just hold
but when I hold
in these two bewildered hands
the two nice little breasts of my sweetheart,
then I say there's nothing, nothing
nothing better than life1.
 
He watched space go by,
among the jet set, the pomp, the palaces,
and then glorified janitors2.
Some put their hopes in steeples and monasteries,
looking to see a good old cushy Sgt. Pepper3,
but there's only Richard Gere up there.
He crawled like a bug into Internet sites
to meet people from sects,
and he said
 
Life is not worth a damn thing.
Life is not worth a thing,
but when I just hold
but when I hold
in these two bewildered hands
the two nice little breasts of my sweetheart,
then I say there's nothing, nothing
nothing better than life.
 
He saw lacks of love and money,
how corrosive life is,
how it washes out people.
He played lame guitar tunes4 for some
drowsy friends.
What a nostaligia!
And he said:
 
Ah!
Life is not worth a damn thing.
Life is not worth a thing,
but when I just hold
but when I hold
in these two bewildered hands
the two nice little breasts of my sweetheart,
then I say there's nothing, nothing
nothing better than life.
 
There's nothing, nothing
nothing better than life. (x2)
 

• 1. lit. 'life is worth nothing / nothing is worth life'
• 2. lit. 'surface technician', the PC equivalent of 'janitor'
• 3. pun on 'pépère' (easy, tranquil) and the Beatles' character
• 4. The first bars of ' can be played with the right hand only. I has become a symbol for phoney guitar players

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Glad if you liked it, sorry if you didn't.
You can reuse it as you please.
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Hard to please

She tells me that I'm always whining,
that I'm like a little kid who would
no longer love his games, his life, his mom.
She says that I'm always whining,
 
that I'm really mean, too hard to please.
Really mean, too hard to please.
 
Back then already my parents
wanted me to act charming
among some friends of my granddad's,
some pharmacists, some lawyers
 
who found me really vulgar, very common.
Really vulgar, very common.
 
Then I was forcibly drafted
in the paratroopers at Pau1.
They wanted me to fall from planes
hanging from a mushroom.
 
I squarely told them 'No, bad plane2!'
Squarely told them 'No, bad plane!'
 
I ran away to England where
I acted the Frenchman super lover.
I died my hair and eyebrows
to darken my hue, to look manly.
 
Completely stupid, can't find my style.
Completely stupid, can't find my style.
 
I got the blues while
writing songs on my bed.
Ghostwriting for lousy singers.
I had to say 'France', 'American'.
 
It really got at me, disgusted me.
Really got at me, disgusted me.
 
Them property developers crooks wanted me
to take tea money, playing the straw man
to build thier blue carboard community flats
for little boys to gamble on them3.
 
I simply set fire to them: serves them right!
Simply set fire to them: serves them right!
 
She tells me that I'm always whining,
that I'm like a little kid who would
no longer love his games, his life, his mom.
She says that I'm always whining,
 
that I'm really mean, too hard to please.
Really mean, too hard to please.
 

• 1. some town in Southwestern France
• 2. sounds like a little kid
• 3. I don't really know what he's alluding to here

This translation does not claim to be of any particular value.
Glad if you liked it, sorry if you didn't.
You can reuse it as you please.
Glad if it's for knowledge or understanding, sorry if it's just for money or fame.

Some rumba in air

There's some rumba in air
Tuxedo awry
I don't follow you in this bad trip
You can't live your life again !
Looking for pieces of yesterday, fatso
In pre-World War II rubbles
the Casino is just now pieces of stones
You can't live your life again !
 
Connect your headphone this way
the sea is still gone
Old Casino wrecked, game over !
Fatso, shouln't you have like a old nostalgia
of the tickling in Bugatti
of the Uh là là, the gala evening, Riveiera
 
There's some rumba in air
Tuxedo awry
I don't follow you in this bad trip
You can't live your life again !
Looking for pieces of yesterday, fatso
In pre-World War II rubbles
the Casino is just now pieces of stones
You can't live your life again !
 
Close the eyes of the tall girl in marine
All languid for Nights of China
on the moleskin benchs of the limos
Let's hear the story between Trouville and Dinard
Of a endend long kiss, it's too late
Hand on satin, morning caresses : grif !
 
There's some rumba in air
Tuxedo awry
I don't follow you in this bad trip
You can't live your life again !
Looking for pieces of yesterday, fatso
In pre-World War II rubbles
the Casino is just now pieces of stones
You can't live your life again !
 

He Rolls (The Flowers from the ball)

His heart is bleak
And without reason
Five hours later
He leaves the house
He gets going
Leaves without reason
Beckoned by
The horizon
Perhaps love
Perhaps life
The death of the day
Or just boredom
To leave in the night
To go like that
This need
Everyone has that
Larmor-Baden
Guingamp
Outside the black of the plains
And then black inside
He leaves he leaves
Like he had somewhere to go
Leaving there - in the hall
On the sun scatters
The flowers from the ball
In the road is his motor
He gets going
His throttle
The consolation
The guitars play loud
In his cockpit
They are his comfort
Amniotic
He rolls he rolls
Like the tears that flow
Leaving there in the hall
On the sun scatters
The flowers from the ball
To leave in the night
To go like that
This need
This need
Everyone has that
He rolls he rolls
In the wind and the stars
Back there - in the hallway
On the sun scatters
The flowers from the ball