A keresés eredménye

Boha and Guitar (Bagpipes and Guitar)

I came from across the ocean
This is the land of rock and rap music
You, you smell a bit too much like a goat
And the crows turned their heads
 
The Garonne, shamelessly
She doesn't care

Catherine

Cathy is, without lies,
Is as beautiful as morning
Cathy is, without lies,
Is as beautiful as morning
Catherine, time goes on
Time goes on, time goes on
Catherine, time goes on
I love you always
 
Her eyes are so sweet,
She never mourns nor cries
Her eyes are so sweet,
She never mourns nor cries
Catherine, time goes on
Time goes on, time goes on
Catherine, time goes on
I love you always
 
From behind, from before,
I don't know how many suitors she had
From behind, from before,
I don't know how many suitors she had
Catherine, time goes on
Time goes on, time goes on
Catherine, time goes on
I love you always
 
From lawyers to carpenters,
And even the king's son
From lawyers to carpenters,
And even the king's son
Catherine, time goes on
Time goes on, time goes on
Catherine, time goes on
I love you always
 
She has chosen me,
Poor, poor little Pierre
She has chosen me,
Poor, poor little Pierre
Catherine, time goes on
Time goes on, time goes on
Catherine, time goes on
I love you always
 
Poor as a rat,
Those stars are inside his head
Poor as a rat,
Those stars are inside his head
Catherine, time goes on
Time goes on, time goes on
Catherine, time goes on
I love you always
 
In rain or sunshine,
I love her as she is
In rain or sunshine,
I love her as she is
Catherine, time goes on
Time goes on, time goes on
Catherine, time goes on
I love you always
 
From Saint-Pierre to Saint-Jean,
I love her all year
From Saint-Pierre to Saint-Jean,
I love her all year
Catherine, time goes on
Time goes on, time goes on
Catherine, time goes on
I love you always
 
Cathy is, without lies,
Is as beautiful as morning
Cathy is, without lies,
Is as beautiful as morning
Catherine, time goes on
Time goes on, time goes on
Catherine, time goes on
I love you always
 

The Enchanted

Patapim, patapam
I don't know where she came from
She never took a glance at me
And I lost her right away
And then came hunger and thirst
 
Patapim, patapam
I don't know what's happening to me
And without any mercy
She walked away
She went straight ahead
I don't know what's her name
For me, she's The Enchanted
To see her pass by,
I'd put myself there
Every morning I would watch her
I don't know what's her name
For me, she's The Enchanted
I'd just think about her
And all night and all day
And all day and all night
I had always known about her
And (she) said no and said goodbye
 
I had never wanted to
I never prayed to any man or to God
Now I am on my knees
Inside the church, bowing down
To beg for what I want
Breathing right next to her
 
From the earth or the skies
It struck like lightning
And everything turned over
Nothing will be ever like this anymore
No, never like this before
Not even the coldness of snow
Not even the greenness of the fields
Not even a song of a child
Not even the marching of the sun
That would run through the years
I don't know what's her name
 
For me, she is the Enchanted
And if it's not today
Then tomorrow, for sure
I'll soon talk to her
I don't know what's her name
For me, she's the Enchanted
Tomorrow, I'll tell her
That I have lived long enough
Just to meet you
 

The Other Day in the Garden

The other day in the garden,
I heard her1 crying,
And I approached,
I told her, while sighing:
“Unhappy are the girls
Who trust their suitors.2”
 

• 1. Technically, it could also be “him,” but I think “her” makes more sense given the context of the final two lines.
• 2. Or “admirers.”

Lady Misery

I know a story
That runs the paths,
I don’t know when it took place
Nor in which country,
If there is someone that knows
They’ll tell me,
In the Great Book
We’ll write it.
Everyone, come on,
Come and hear
The true story
Of Lady Misery,
The night is falling,
We’re all comfortable,
Take a seat,
I’m going to tell it to you.
 
There was an old lady,
Trampled under foot1
She had nothing more, poor thing,
But a beautiful apple tree,
That gave apples
And apples all year long,
They stole them from her,
From time to time.
One winter evening,
During an evening from hell
A poor mendicant
Knocked at the door,
“You may enter,
Without fear, without regret,
We’ll share
The apple and the fire.”
 
And the wanderer,
In the morning,
Told Misery,
Just as he was about to leave:
“I am Saint Peter,
In order to thank you,
Everything that you ask,
You will have.”
“I don’t want gold,
Neither gold nor silver,
I only want
That they stop stealing my apples.”
“So may it be,
The one that climbs
Up your apple tree, without your permission
Will not be able to come down.”
 
At the end of three days,
She heard a cry.
In leaving the house,
What did she see?
The thieving miller,
Drunk, up the apple tree:
“By God, free me,
I’m emprisoned!”
When he escaped
His voice was hoarse from squawking,
He was dry from drink,
At least for a week!
“I don’t want anyone,
Making a commotion,
Who comes to prowl
Around the house.”
 
The times passed by,
The time passed,
One moonless night,
Death arrived,
Dressed in black,
With the scythe in its hand:
“Misery, Misery,
It is time to go.”
“If it’s the end,
Then I’ll gladly follow you,
But I would eat
One last apple,
Will you help
Bring it to me?”
Death climbed
And couldn’t come back down.
 
No one died
In the entire world,
The old ones mocked
Their inheritors,
Sellers of pipe dreams,
Sellers of canons,
They went bankrupt
Without remission.
Every one of them,
Mayor and president,
And even the Pope,
All of them went to Misery,
Threats and prayers,
And supplications,
Misery finally gave in,
She offered her condition.
 
Death was exhausted,
In order to escape,
It had to promise,
to not come back.
Such weight had it supported,
That the apple tree died,
Misery, from hunger,
Had to leave.
Misery and Death,
From this time ever since,
Travel together forever
The paths of the world.
And tric and tric,
The story is finished,
Spin, spin,
The story is ended.
 

• 1. Figuratively

I'm off to Market

I’m going off to market
To buy a little chick. [x2]
 
Cheep1, cheep, cheep goes my little chick.
Up, turnspit,2 the chicken sings.
The chicken sings on the stick.3
 
I’m going off to market
To buy a little duckling. [x2]
 
Quack, quack, quack goes my little duckling.
Cheep, cheep, cheep goes my little chick.
Up, turnspit, the chicken sings.
The chicken sings on the stick.
 
I’m going off to market
To buy a little goat. [x2]
 
Baa, baa, baa goes my little goat.
Quack, quack, quack goes my little duckling.
Cheep, cheep, cheep goes my little chick.
Up, turnspit, the chicken sings.
The chicken sings on the stick.
 
I’m going off to market
To buy a little calf. [x2]
 
Moo, moo, moo goes my little calf.
Baa, baa, baa goes my little goat.
Quack, quack, quack goes my little duckling.
Cheep, cheep, cheep goes my little chick.
Up, turnspit, the chicken sings.
The chicken sings on the stick.
 
I’m going off to market
To buy a little kitten. [x2]
 
Meow, meow, meow goes my little kitten.
Moo, moo, moo goes my little calf.
Baa, baa, baa goes my little goat.
Quack, quack, quack goes my little duckling.
Cheep, cheep, cheep goes my little chick.
Up, turnspit, the chicken sings.
The chicken sings on the stick.
 
I’m going off to market
To buy a little puppy. [x2]
 
Woof, woof, woof goes my little puppy.
Meow, meow, meow goes my little kitten.
Moo, moo, moo goes my little calf.
Baa, baa, baa goes my little goat.
Quack, quack, quack goes my little duckling.
Cheep, cheep, cheep goes my little chick.
Up, turnspit, the chicken sings.
The chicken sings on the stick.
 

• 1. Or peep.
• 2. A device used to turn a spit of meat over a flame.
• 3. As it’s roasting.

The Gale

Gosh it’s a big one,
The wind that knocks on the door,
But if you go to open it,
The wind turns its butt around.
 
The wind, the wind,
The wind that goes that comes,
The wind, the wind
Is never content.
 
Wind from the north, tears holes in shirts,
Windstorm from the south for drying things out
It fills the heart, it dries the tears
It carries the pains of lovers.
Heartbreak is a sickness,
Which the doctor can’t cure.
Didn’t even hurt, didn’t even hurt,
Didn’t even hurt, didn’t even hurt.
 
What can’t stop itself?
It’s the gale1, the gale
What can’t stop itself?
It’s the gale, let it pass.
 
But if you stop it, it’ll kick the bucket2
It’s the gale, it’s the gale,
But if you stop it, it’ll kick the bucket,
It’s the gale, let it pass.
 
Gosh it’s a big one,
The wind that knocks on the door,
But if you go to open it,
The wind turns its butt around.
 
The wind, the wind,
The wind that goes that comes,
The wind, the wind
Is never content.
 
The wind of the red dawn,
Is married to the rain,
It doesn’t have flesh or bones
It’s going off to run in the woods.
 
Wind rains, wind rains,
To drink is what I want.
Wind rains, wind rains,
To drink is what I want.
 
It brings the news
from Radio Chatterbox,
Good news or bad,
Vinegar or white wine:
Monsieur le Curé from Lanneplaà3,
Every time he’s full, he sings.
Monsieur le Curé from Sent Cristau4,
He pees in bed and says it’s raining.
The price of wine has totally dropped
My wife had a baby…
 
The wind, the wind,
The wind that goes that comes,
The wind, the wind
Is never content. [x3]
 

• 1. Strong, sudden wind
• 2. E.g. “die.”
• 3. A commune in the Pyrénées-Altantiques department. See
• 4. I believe it refers to Lurbe-Saint-Christau in the Pyrénées-Atlantiques department. See .