A keresés eredménye oldal 2

To Stop You From Telling Me Goodbye

My only weapons
are my tears.
I no longer have anything
to stop you
from telling me
goodbye.
My only war—
a prayer.
I no longer have anything
to stop you
from telling me
goodbye.
I had my joie de vivre
and my bursts of laughter
and I wanted to follow you
but
all of this—
you no longer want it.
 
My only weapons
are my tears.
I no longer have anything
to stop you
from telling me
goodbye.
All lights off—
I offered you my hugs,
my sighs, and my complaints
but
all of this—
you no longer want it.
 
There remains for me
only a prayer.
I no longer have anything
to stop you
from telling me
goodbye.
 

My Friend Always

You,
my friend always.
You smiled at me
and welcomed me
into your home.
 
You,
my friend always.
You protected me,
raised me.
 
But
to live by your side,
my love has grown
with me
day by day
like a tree
in the garden—
slowly.
 
You,
my friend always.
Forget the child
that I have been
for you.
 
You
my friend, my love,
open your eyes,
look at me.
 
Nothing
can not make me change
even if it is necessary to cry out
that I love you—
that I love you—
that I love you—
my friend,
my love forever.
 

My Impossible Love

My impossible
love, we are separated—
perhaps forever.
And, too far from one another, we live in the past.
My impossible love,
as far away as you be,
I am close to you.
This happiness is ours—nothing will erase it.
 
The great sun that entered into our two hearts—
around me, they say that it exists elsewhere.
They want to make me believe
that this is a story
about those who are forgotten.
 
My impossible love,
I do not listen.
Do not pay attention to them.
Me—I know that I love you since the first day.
My impossible love,
what does it matter after all?
So much the better if it's mad.
We will be in love anyway, my impossible love.
 

My God is a Man

Me—
my God.
It's a man
who has
neither love
nor soul—
who is not afraid
of anyone
and especially
not of a woman.
 
I'm here.
He ignores me.
I leave,
he condemns me.
I hate him.
I love him.
It's a man
and it's my God.
 
I, who flee
false idols,
I am making my Stations
of the Cross.
They say
'You're crazy.'
I am crazy but I believe.
 
Me—
my God—
it's a man.
I give myself
and he damns me.
He does not believe
in anyone
and especially
not in his wife.
 
He looks like an angel
with the beauty
of the devil.
Impossible mixture.
It's a man
and it's my God.
 
And nights
without stars
under which
he threw me.
I make of them cathedrals
where I will
supplicate him.
 
Me—
my God—
it's a man.
He can do
whatever
he wants.
His faithful one forgives him.
It's a man
and it's my God.
 

A Thousand Doves

Winter is here on the roofs of the village.
The sky is white
and I hear the children's choir
in the old church
singing over an organ ripe with age.
 
Peace be upon the world
for the next hundred thousand years.
Give us a thousand doves
for all the rising suns.
Give us a thousand doves
and millions of swallows.
Bring us a day that all men
become children again.
 
Tomorrow is us, and tomorrow, no more war.
Tomorrow, everywhere, the guns will sleep under flowers.
A pretty world is a world where you live without fear.
 
To you!
 
Peace be upon the world
for the next hundred thousand years.
Give us a thousand doves
for all the rising suns.
Give us a thousand doves
and millions of swallows.
Bring us a day that all men
become children again.
 
All together!
 
Peace be upon the world
for the next hundred thousand years.
Give us a thousand doves
for all the rising suns.
Give us a thousand doves
and millions of swallows.
Bring us a day that all men
become children again.
 

My Life Belongs to Me

My life belongs to me.
My life—I hold it.
My life—in my hands.
My life—I bring it to life day after day.
It's my life.
It's me who chooses whom to like or dislike
according to my desires
without anyone ever ruling over my life.
 
I want to live it not just for a man
but thrilling at every moment that God gives me
for loves and fights of all kinds.
 
My life— I want that it grapples as well
with the opinions of others.
I want to live it by burning up all of my strength
even though I must pay the bill.
 
My life—do not touch.
My life—it is mine.
My life—not a right.
My life—that imposes on me things that affect
my life. It is I who chooses—
am I wrong?—too bad.
It hurts—thank you—
but I want to go only until the end of my life.
 
I want to live it not just for a man
but thrilling at every moment that God gives me
for loves and fights of all kinds.
 
My life— I want that it grapples as well
with the opinions of others.
I want to live it by burning up all of my strength
even though I must pay the bill.
 
My life belongs to me.
My life—I hold it.
My life—in my hands.
My life.
 
My life belongs to me.
My life—I hold it.
My life—in my hands.
My life.
 

Mamy oh Mamy

(Cry sweetly.)
Tell me: my child, come here and sit on my knees.
(Cry sweetly.)
You'll have plenty of time to hide your tears.
All of the oceans of sorrow—you will cross them
and your heart will not cry anymore.
 
Mamy oh Mamy, the time of lace
between the flowers and the sky.
You dressed me as a little girl-model
and you taught me how to smile.
 
Mamy oh Mamy, for the curtsy—
pretty as an old dance.
You said: always be proud of France
because it is she who will bring you happiness—
in your heart so much happiness—so much happiness.
 
(Cry sweetly.).
I said: my child, for the joys, the downfalls
(Cry sweetly.)
suffered in the big movie that is life,
there are laughs that lead to tears
and endings that bring fear.
But every tear is a path that must be traveled.
 
Mamy oh Mamy, the time of lace
between the flowers and the sky.
You dressed me as a little girl-model
and you taught me how to smile.
 
Mamy oh Mamy, for the curtsy—
pretty as an old dance.
You said: always be proud of France
because it is she who will bring you happiness—
in your heart.
 
Mamy oh Mamy, the time of lace
between the flowers and the sky.
You said that one day I would have wings
to fly to the four corners of the globe.
 
Mamy oh Mamy, and the curtsy
like that of my childhood.
I sang it far beyond France
but I have never forgotten this happiness.
 
Mamy oh Mamy, the time of lace
between the flowers and the sky.
You said that one day I would have wings
to fly to the four corners of the globe
Mamy oh Mamy, and the curtsy...
 

The Old Boat

The old sailor is no longer
and no one will come to cry him—
neither a friend nor a woman.
Only the old wooden boat
like a widow remained there,
lying on its side in the sand.
 
The old rusty anchor,
the oars, the heavy net—
the only witnesses to joys and tears.
So many memories
from all of the days sleeping there,
in the wood of the old boat.
 
It was before the sun rose
that they went out on the sea, both
having only the clouds
to guide their travels—
and the stars in the heavens.
 
Where are the blue mornings?
The big birds playing
hide and seek in the hollows of the waves
when the boat and the sailor
watched the mornings dawn
at the hour when the stars vanished.
 
The old sailor is no longer.
The old boat remained there
waiting no doubt for a wave
that will then carry it away.
It will be able to make that day
one final trip.
 

The Crowd

I see the city again in celebration and madness,
suffocating under the sun and the joy.
And I hear in the music the cries, the laughter
that break forth and rebound around me.
And lost among people who jostle me,
stunned, helpless, I remain put—
until suddenly, I turn around, he backs up
and the crowd comes to throw me into his arms.
 
Carried away by the crowd that drags us away—
sweeps us away—
crushed against one another,
we form one body.
And the effortless flow
pushes us, attached one to the other,
and leaves us both
exhausted, intoxicated, and happy.
 
Swept away the crowd that charges
and that dances
a mad farandole—
our two hands clasped together
and sometimes raised.
Our entangled bodies both fly away
and fall back —
exhausted, intoxicated, and happy.
 
And the joy splashed across his smile
pierces me and echoes deep inside of me.
But suddenly I cry out in the midst of the laughter
when the crowd pulls him out of my arms.
 
Carried away by the crowd that drags us away—
sweeps us away—
we move far away from one another.
I fight and I struggle.
But the sound of my voice
is stifled by the laughter of others
and I cry out in pain, fury, and rage
and I cry.
 
Swept away the crowd that charges
and that dances
a mad farandole—
I am carried far away.
And I clasp my fists, cursing at the crowd that steals from me
the man that it gave to me me
and that I have never found again.
 

Life in Pink

Eyes that know how to charm—
his laughter makes me shudder.
I do not know what else I can say.
This is the man of my dreams.
 
When he takes me in his arms,
he whispers to me softly—
I see life in pink.
He tell me words of love—
words heard everyday—
and it does something to me.
He has come inside my heart
bringing so much happiness
of which I know the cause.
It's him for me, me for him, in life.
He told it to me—swore it to me—for life.
And, as soon as I see him,
so I feel in me
my heartbeat.
 
Nights of love and fulfillment—
innocent bliss to live.
No trace of yesterday—
now I can die.
 
When he takes me in his arms,
he whispers to me softly.
I see life in pink.
He tell me words of love—
words heard everyday,
and it does something to me.
He has come inside my heart
bringing so much happiness
of which I know the cause.
It's him for me, me for him, in life.
He told it to me—swore it to me—for life.
And, as soon as I see him,
so I feel in me
my heartbeat.
 
My heartbeat.
 

The Lights of Candlemas

When winter is dying
in the flames of Candlemas,
the snow in my heart
gives way to the sun of dreams.
 
The sky of February
makes shine through my tears
all of the flowers of May
that promise me a truce.
 
You take me in your arms—
I get lost in your eyes.
You do not know—no, you do not even know
that we are happy.
 
Winter dries its tears
in the flames of Candlemas.
I'm waiting for the hour to sound.
I love you and then I die.
 

The Wind of the Night

I love you,
hold me against your heart.
I fear the passing time.
In the sky, the night disappears.
I love you,
listen to the howling wind.
Already it is the hour
of your departure.
Wait
before it's too late
on the cross that I carry
my heart that you carry away.
You go—
promise to be faithful.
Untrue love
is not love.
 
When the wind of the night sings on the sea,
she is alone and she dreams of fantasies.
She listens, the wind calms down, and she falls asleep
thinking
of the sailor.
It seems to her
that a boat comes back
directly towards the port—
that he returns,
the sailor.
 
And he,
alone with his hope
at the other end of the world
counting the seconds.
And he,
in the heart of the dark night,
he thinks he sees in the shadows
her big black eyes.
 
When the wind of the night sings on the sea,
she is alone and she dreams of fantasies.
She listens, the wind calms down, and she falls asleep
thinking
of the sailor.
It seems to her
that a boat comes back
directly towards the port—
that he returns,
the sailor.
 

Tenderness

Tenderness—is sometimes no longer to be in love but to be happy
to find yourself again as two apart.
It is to recreate for a few moments a world in blue
with the heart in the eyes.
 
Tenderness, tenderness.
 
Tenderness, tenderness.
 
Love—sometimes never arrives because it passes by without knocking.
It goes looking for someone to love.
Sometimes, when it arrives, it arrives too late, because
there is someone else in your place.
 
Tenderness, tenderness.
 
Love.
 
Tenderness—is a gesture, a word, a smile and we forget
that both of us have grown up.
It is when I want to say 'I love you' and I forget
that one day or another love ends.
 
Tenderness, tenderness,
 
Tenderness, tenderness,
 
Love—everything is forgiven without reproach and by letting go.
To start over is not saying anything and quietly walking away.
It is offering to go without waiting.
 
Tenderness, tenderness.
 
Tenderness, tenderness.
 
Tenderness.
 
Love.
 
Tenderness
 
Love.
 
Tenderness.
 
Tenderness.
 

The Same Old Story

To bring me closer to you,
there are all those I see again
and who speak to me about things that hurt
without wishing to do it, I suppose.
 
It seems that you are happy,
just as they used to say about the two of us.
Forgive me for giving our love
an ending other than friendship.
 
When you take her hand
do you have the same words,
the same look,
that you had for me?
Please, do not answer.
 
Let me think that I am mistaken
and that it is not the same old story—
and that it is not the same old story—
the same old story.
 
You see, the years have passed
and other arms have held me.
But I kept at heart a vision of you
while seeking you through them.
 
When you take her hand
do you have the same words,
the same look,
that you had for me?
Please, do not answer.
 
Let me think that I am mistaken
and that it is not the same old story—
and that it is not the same old story—
the same old story.
 
When you take her hand
do you have the same words,
the same look,
that you had for me?
Please, do not answer
 
Let me think that I am mistaken
and that it is not the same old story—
and that it is not the same old story—
the same old story—
the same old story.
 

I Was So Young

I was sixteen.
The promises were beautiful.
The days passed as if in a dream.
When I saw him so grand in the sun,
the fire of love flared in me.
 
I was so young for my first love.
I was so young but it was my turn.
It was my dream come true.
I forgot everything when he held me tight.
The sky all around danced.
I could have died in his arms
so much did I already love him.
 
We gave ourselves all of the bonheur de vivre—
a marvelous passion.
But he was a prisoner of his past.
Another love waited his return and ...
 
I was so young for my first love.
I was so young, goodbye to my most precious days.
It was my dream that shattered without a sound.
I will never forget, throughout my life,
those days passed close to him—
and the scar in the depths of my heart
reminds me of my happiness.
 
I was so young for my first love.
I was so young, but I think about it all the time.
I was so young for my first love.
I was so young, but I think about it all the time...
 

I Love You Enough to Die

I love you.
I love you enough to die.
I love you
and I see you go away
knowing neither where you are going
nor will you come back.
And the words I speak,
you lose them in the night
and me—I stay here.
I am alone far away from you.
 
I love you.
I love you enough to die.
I love you
and I see you go away
into the sleeping city.
You rejoin your friends—
I know nothing about you—
neither who you are, from where you come,
nor why are you are leaving
nor whether you will come back.
 
But it is you I love
if you asked it of me.
My life, going forth,
I will give it to you—
but let God protect you
if one day you go away.
Yes, let God protect you,
I need you so much.
 
I love you.
I love you enough to die.
I love you
and I see you go away
knowing neither where you are going
nor will you come back.
But sometimes,
when you think that I sleep,
you take me in your arms
and your heart beats so loud.
 
I love you.
I love you enough to die.
 
(repeat last stanza five times until fade)
 

I'm Afraid to Love a Memory

A fountain, a stone wall,
a little ivy climbing on a roof—
in this room, I made the promise
to love you for the first and the last time.
 
After the strife and the years of forgetting you,
all of my travels brought me back here.
Here I am—I already regret it,
and I'm afraid of this door that will open to reveal you.
 
I'm afraid to love a memory.
I'm afraid of you—I’m afraid of myself.
I'm afraid we have nothing to say to each other—
or too many things to say at once.
 
I should not have come back.
I had a vision of you in my head.
I'm afraid of loving a memory
and here you are before me.
 
I'm waiting for you to speak to me.
your voice is just the same—
the same eyes—you barely change.
I'm afraid in front of the two of us.
 
I'm afraid to love a memory.
I'm afraid of you—I’m afraid of myself.
But you only have to say one word
and I will be in your arms.
 
I want to love a memory.
I want to love you as before.
You did the right thing to come back.
I waited for those words from you.
 
You can love a memory
to the point of making it live again.
This evening, I'm ready to die
since you—you love me too.
 
Tonight I'm ready to die.
I just loved a memory.
 

The Rival

Lady—
you lived in the shadow of this man,
waiting an entire lifetime to love him.
 
Lady—
you were the hidden lover, you were the other woman,
the impossible favorite, the rival in a word.
 
He was the picture of a hero—success—in the newspapers.
Another was in the picture—another had his children.
 
Lady—
he spoke as nicely as he knew how:
'You are beautiful and I owe you all my talent.'
 
And yet it was another who shared his life,
not knowing she was robbing you day after day.
 
Then one day, he led you to believe that someday you could live together.
Perhaps—maybe he believed it too—but that day never came.
 
Lady—
tonight, there is nothing left to choose.
Too many tears have already streamed from your eyes.
 
In other times,
you dreamed of growing old together—
but your dreams now are old and the winter is here.
 

Futile to Meet Again

Futile to meet again—
our love is hopeless.
Someone else is in your life:
she is your wife, I envy her.
 
Yes, you love her less than me—
you say it and I believe you.
But you only give to my heart
half of the happiness.
 
I am too young, you know,
to share everything
as you do—
to live in the shadow
of a blonde girl,
never!
 
Yes, you love her less than me—
you say it and, despite that,
I cannot accept
just half
of a story of love.
 
~ ~ ~
 
I am too young, you know,
to share everything
as you do—
to live in the shadow
of a blonde girl,
never!
 
Futile to meet again—
and to live without hope.
I cannot accept
just half
of a story of love.
 

I Am Just Unhappy

Suddenly nothing works any longer
and yet nothing seems different.
We live in a house
that I like as much as before.
 
Of course, you are here.
I can ask you anything.
It is true that you are so nice
and that there are certainly women who envy me.
It is true that I have all this, and ...
 
I am just unhappy—
but I am that very, very much.
Empty days and empty hours—
we have many, many of them.
When you survey my life,
it is clear as water.
Me—I see it like a theater
when the audience has left, and ...
 
I am just unhappy—
but I am that very, very much.
I am still in love—
you are no longer very, very much.
There is nothing more sad
than a story of love that is dying
while hiding behind the illusion of happiness.
 
Sometimes I remember
a mad summer, full of the sun and the ocean.
Besides our dreams, we had nothing—
but we were united as one.
 
Then, a short moment later it seems,
I search in you for the same man as before—
but I see only a stranger
and I understand that something has disappeared—
that you do not love me anymore, and ...
 
I am just unhappy—
but I am that very, very much.
Empty days and empty hours—
we have many, many of them.
When you survey my life,
it is clear as water.
Me—I see it like a theater
when the audience has left, and ...
 
I am just unhappy—
but I am that very, very much.
I am still in love—
you are no longer very, very much.
There is nothing more sad
than a story of love that is dying
while hiding behind the illusion of happiness.
 
There is nothing more sad
than a story of love that is dying
while hiding behind the illusion of happiness.
 

The Song of My Happiness

The bird on the branch
sings out his love, starting at dawn.
Reeds bend over,
murmuring words over the water of streams.
And I want to sing for you too—
listen to me.
 
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—
my song is always the same,
it comes straight from my heart.
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—
my song is always the same,
it is the song of my happiness
 
The mom who awakens
sings softly to rock the child.
The voice of an old woman
seeking to smile as if she were twenty years old.
And I want to sing for you too—
listen to me.
 
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,
my song is always the same,
it comes straight from my heart.
 
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,
my song is always the same,
it's the song of my happiness.
 
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,
my song is always the same,
it comes straight from my heart ...
 

I Love Paris

I love Paris, my village.
I love Paris, my garden.
I love Paris in the picture in my bedroom.
I love Paris under a storm in September.
I love Paris on the stage of the Casino de Paris—
interpreted by all the painters of the butte and in their eyes as well.
 
It is a Paris of tenderness of which I sing to you today—
a memory that imparts to me during vacation
a great love of youthful years filled with France.
I love the Paris Notre Dame, to which I return today
and my soul will always live between two islands because my heart is here.
 
(I love Paris, my village. I love Paris, my garden.)
(I love Paris in the picture in my bedroom.)
(I love Paris under a storm in September.)
I love Paris on the stage of the Casino de Paris—
and my dreams will always live between two islands because my heart is here.
 

A Hundred Times My Life

A hundred times my life—
my life for you.
I would give
a hundred times my life for you.
I would play it over
for a single word from you
my love—
so much do I hope in you.
 
A hundred times my life—
my life for you.
I would play it over,
believe me, with eyes closed,
against the hope
that you never forget
all of the love
that you promised to me.
 
Because it was you,
forget it not,
this stranger who came
to offer me your life
for love—
to offer me love
for life.
 
My life a hundred times,
without regret,
my heart and me
we gave it to you.
It is a treasure
that belongs only to you,
my love,
never forget it.
 
A hundred times my life—
my life for you.
I would give
a hundred times my life for you.
I would play it over
for a single word from you
my love—
so much do I believe in you.
 

And When You Will Be Here

With its tile roof,
with its clay walls,
she is there so fragile,
offered to the summer winds.
There is in the garden
some thyme, some rosemary—
and just a little further—
Judea trees.
 
She did not suffer too much
from the rigors of winter.
And you can see her from the sea
at the end of the path—
There it is: my house.
Far on the horizon,
there it is: my house.
She and I wait for you.
 
And when you will be here,
the sky will light up,
time will stop—
how good to be in love.
And when you will be here,
happiness will blossom
in the branches of lilacs—
in the leaves of orange trees.
 
You will take my hand
and you will say to me, 'come.'
And I will say nothing,
and then I will follow you.
Yes, when you will be here,
all will start over again.
So do not tarry—
I wait only for you.
 
I changed the curtains.
I put on top of your piano
old photos
of past vacations.
I arranged in one corner
your papers, your books.
And I will go starting tomorrow
to wait for you on the first train.
 
And when you will be here,
the sky will light up,
time will stop—
how good to be in love.
And when you will be here,
happiness will blossom
in the branches of lilacs—
in the leaves of orange trees.
 
You will take my hand
and you will say to me, 'come.'
And I will say nothing,
and then I will follow you.
Yes, when you will be here,
all will start over again.
So do not tarry—
I wait only for you.
 
And when you will be here,
the sky will light up,
time will stop—
how good to be in love.
 

Tonight I Lost You

I cry endlessly all of these tears of sorrow.
I claw the walls at night around me.
I cry all alone where I blacken leaves
in the shade of shutters, in the purple heart.
 
Tonight I lost you—lost.
I had only you.
Tonight I lost you—lost.
Stripped bare, I'm cold without you.
 
I pace the floor from the bedroom to the living room.
I erase the traces of the unforgettable devil.
I never sleep and, even if that's not true,
be sensitive to my sadness for at least an hour.
 
Tonight I lost you—lost.
I had only you.
Tonight I lost you—lost.
Stripped bare, I'm cold without you.
 
I do not want to undo our love
and I grasp for the slightest sound of your return,
and I wring my hands that tremble,
and that keel over to the point of poison—to the point of delirium.
I hit bottom—I do not know how to laugh any longer.
 
Tonight I lost you—lost.
I had only you.
Tonight I lost you—lost.
Stripped bare, I'm cold.
 
Tonight I lost you—lost.
I had only you.
Tonight I lost you—oh lost.
Stripped bare, I'm cold without you, without you.
 

These Moments of My Life

To write—to write
on the walls
'I love you—I love you,
I am sure of it.'
To cry—to cry
in the rain.
To sing—to sing
at midnight.
 
To run—to run
in the wheat.
To suffer—to suffer
from love of you.
To want—to want
to forget you.
One evening—one evening
to marry you.
 
These moments of my life
belong to me—
no one but me—
like a photograph
that no one
will take.
The most beautiful memories
are all of those
that I invent myself
for fun.
 
Yesterday—yesterday
I loved you.
Winter—winter
regrets.
Tomorrow—tomorrow
America.
It is far—it is far.
Fantastic!
 
These moments of my life
belong to me—
no one but me—
like a photograph
that no one
will take.
 
To write—to write
on the walls
'I love you—I love you,
I am sure of it.'
To cry—to cry
in the rain.
To sing—to sing
at midnight.
 
These moments of my life
belong to me—
no one but me—
like a photograph
that no one
will take.
 
To run—to run
in the wheat.
To suffer—to suffer
from love of you.
To want—to want
to forget you.
One evening—one evening
to marry you.
 
Yesterday—yesterday
I loved you.
Winter—winter
regrets.
Tomorrow—tomorrow
America.
It is far—it is far.
Fantastic!
 

Andy

Andy, it was childhood,
adolescence,
then life
and the mistakes
that take off from the heart.
Andy, when you live.
 
Andy, if you want to
reverse course,
that's today.
If you regret
our days of defeats—
Andy, me too.
 
Take this tear fallen from a smile.
The lilacs will bloom again.
Andy, Andy, that's life.
 
Andy, if you want to
reverse course,
that's today.
We were both close
to the time of regrets.
Andy, my friend.
 
Take this tear fallen from a smile.
We are going to get back to ourselves.
Andy, Andy, that's life.
 

And Thanks Anyway

He went away
and yet I love him.
Leave without me.
Go dance.
Good luck
and thanks anyway.
Thanks for thinking about me.
 
You had expected
to sooth my pain.
Excuse me—
I want to stay.
Save yourself
and thanks anyway.
Thanks for thinking about me.
 
Even though
he will not come,
I will wait for him
for a long, long time.
Yes, even if
he will not return,
I will wait for him
for a long, long time
because I love him!
 
How to forget it—
whatever my punishment.
I cannot
detach myself.
Good night
and thanks anyway.
Thanks for thinking about me.
 
Even though
he will not come,
I will wait for him
for a long, long time.
Yes, even if
he will not return,
I will wait for him
for a long, long time
because I love him!
 
Only real friends
such as you understand me.
Leave without me.
You're welcome.
Leave me
and thanks anyway.
Thanks for thinking about me.
Leave me
and thanks anyway.
Thanks for thinking about me.
 

It's Your Name

It's your name
that cradles my days and my nights.
It's your name
that chases me everywhere.
It's your name
that mingles with my tears.
It's your name
that interprets my happiness.
 
It's your name
that makes me now forget
all of the names
that have filled my life.
It's your name
that returns and stubbornly hangs on
in the depths
of my lost dreams.
 
That has all the powers—
that reflects everything—
from the blue of my hopes
to the gray of my regrets—
and, when inevitably we grow old,
that it will be necessary to remember.
My tired eyes will not see
anything but your name.
 
It's your name,
whether I'm whispering or screaming.
It's your name
that sleeps under my madness.
It's your name
of which I hear the troubling echo
without reason at the end of all words—
that I will always hear
until my last day—
until my last day.
 

A Song of the Streets

It's a song of the streets
that tells a story,
that of a stubborn love
that wants to know nothing
about the heart that falls asleep—
about the fire that turns to ash—
about the caresses that you forget
by dint of waiting for them.
 
A song of the streets—
one more song—
four cents of love—
that I sing
so that you hear me.
 
A song of love—
a song about
one more love
that I sing
so that you hear it.
 
The story of a beating heart,
despite the passing time,
that wonders why
all loves are erased—
why the day breaks
when it should not—
and leaves me on the beach
when you—you are no longer there.
 
A song of the streets—
one more song—
four cents of love—
that I sing
so that you hear me.
 
A song of love—
a song about
one more love
that I sing
so that you hear it—
so that you hear it—
you hear it.
 

What's the Use, Love

JOHNNY: What's the use, love?
We always tell
insane stories.
What's the use to love?
 
MIREILLE: Love cannot be explained!
It's a thing like that!
That comes from who knows where
and then takes you all at once.
 
JOHNNY: Me, I heard it said
that love hurts,
that love makes you cry,
What's the use to love?
 
MIREILLE: Love, what is it for?
To give us joy
with tears in the eyes.
It is sad and wonderful!
 
JOHNNY: Yet we often say
that love is deceptive,
that one of the two in love
is never happy.
 
MIREILLE: Even when we lost it,
the love we have known
leaves behind a taste of honey.
Love is eternal!
 
JOHNNY: All that is very nice—
but when all is said and done,
nothing is left
except immense disappointment.
 
MIREILLE: All that right now
seems to you heartbreaking
Tomorrow, it will be for you
a memory of joy!
 
JOHNNY: In short, if I have understood,
without love in life,
without its joys, its disappointments,
then we have lived for nothing?
 
MIREILLE: But yes! Look at me!
Every time I believe it—
and I always believe it—
that's exactly it, love!
 
But you, you are the last!
But you, you are the first!
Before you there was nothing,
with you I am complete.
 
It is you I wanted!
It is you I needed!
You, whom I will love forever.
 
DUO:
That's what love is for!
 

The New Tango

I am not one for the mambo, samba,
too lively jerk, or the cha-cha-cha.
These dances require too much effort.
Their music—a bit frenetic
and suitable to gymnastics—
is only good if you want to damage your body.
 
I am for a maximum of unleashing
by using a minimum of movement.
Let others dance as they will—
I am for a refinement that is going to please you.
 
I am for the new tango—
a model of stillness.
Nothing is in the gesture.
Everything is in style.
Held tight against each other,
the bodies are restrained.
That is the new tango.
That is the old system.
 
Crammed together in a crowd,
some couples dance.
What are you looking for? To move?
Why move?
Even the orchestra seems muted,
fostering more thoughtfulness
about the dance.
You are not here to be Abel—
rather, you are Cain.
So until tomorrow,
goodbye to that scandal.
You can remain pure—
dance the fandango.
But I am less sure
about the new tango.
 
Before the fanfare, change partners,
before it's too late.
You can not do it here anymore
No need to count the beat.
Here, we spend without counting the change.
Here, there is no need to shake with each step.
Forget what you do—
watch what you do not.
 
To be in the know—
at least to do the tango.
Best of all, it is a man,
and it's the new tango.
Best of all, it is a man
who leads you to dance the new tango.