I'm a poor prisioner who lost the illusion
don't tell me things please
I'm a little bird who was born to sing
and that's why I want freedom
I'm the most genuine and smashing pocket picker
if I ever scape what a trouble they'll have
I don't want to see myself prisioner
I believe you have no solution
I ask the fugitive to stop singing
I'm a poor prisioner
I'm a poor little bird
who soon will fly
I'm a man who dies
because I know she loves me
he's really crazy
How happy I'll be
when I have you
near my bed
he's really narrow-minded
how bad you will have it
I'm a poor dreamer of love
the things the heart do to me
I'm a singing little bird who swore
to be forever a slave of your love
turn off the radio or I'll turn it off with a goalkick
a tomato and another here, what a salad
I have no more sorrows
what a foolishness
if I don't shatter in pieces, neither the feet can fit
I'm a poor prisioner
who's singing his sorrows
and who only thinks of you
I'm a man who dies
because I know she loves me
who could know to write
How happy I'll be
when I have you
leant back on my chest
we have no other remedy
but locking him again
I'm a prisioner, what can I do
He's a very sentimental prisioner
Finally calmly I'll sing
what a pleasure my freedom