Cœur de bombe [English translation]

(a) Little heart fell... on a bomb.

(a) Little heart fell... and it hurts, it hurts.

(a) Little heart fell... on a bomb.

(a) Little heart fell... and it hurts, it hurts.

(a) Little heart fell... on a bomb.

(a) Little heart fell... and it hurts, it hurts.

It starts with some looks,

some promises, some 'Yes, but's, some late-night romance, some texts, some emails, some walks along the canal,

some small talk, some silences.

We share our scars,

and there it is, that's the proof.

The lips, the tongue, the heart and the slowness, the dream, the luck, the hours on cloud nine (the timeless/weightless hours).

To go on and on about the free nights to come.

'Do we do it?'

'Not right away, hold on, no dear, not just yet.'

Shut off from the world, lost in the relationship, you're my bombshell, in any event all the others are assholes, it's not the same with you, you're a pearl, you know, you're rare.

I think 'I love you', etc., etc...

(a) Little heart fell... for a bombshell.

(a) Little heart fell... and it hurts, it hurts.

(a) Little heart fell... for a bombshell.

(a) Little heart fell... and it hurts, it hurts.

(a) Little heart fell... for a bombshell.

(a) Little heart fell... and it hurts, it hurts.

(bombe in French can be a bomb, or a really hot girl)

A couple months later, I move out, we move in together.

The clouds hide the storm,

we know it, we see it coming.

The bomb is quiet,

the woman is a bit less sure, a girlish reflex, I want it all fast and even more.

Then the craziness comes back fast,

but life screwed it all up.

Oh yes, does he have to know how to get out of the rut again.

Venus and Mars blame each other because love kills time, but when time kills love it's Venus who apologizes.

The passionate feminine, biological clock, The overwhelmed masculine, psychological problems.

'Why wait for marriage? Why not, come on, tell me.'

'Nah, hold up, honey, you can understand, it's only been eight months.'

'And do you think about kids? And if we became parents?

'Hold up, you can understand, my love, It's only been three years.

You're crazy, you're too stressed, too sad for me.

My dear, 'I don't love you any more' etc., etc...

(a) Little heart fell... on a bomb.

(a) Little heart fell... and it hurts, it hurts.

(a) Little heart fell... on a bomb.

(a) Little heart fell... and it hurts, it hurts.

(a) Little heart fell... on a bomb.

(a) Little heart fell... and it hurts, it hurts.

I'll let you figure out the rest, the rage and the tears.

'Who'll keep the apartment' and how do we split up the furniture?'

He insults me, hangs me (out to dry), takes everything from me, even his hat.

It's true what they say about princes, there's always a frog.

I'll let the angels answer

and give me the strength, because my pretty bombshell will for sure

come back to knock on my door.

I know it, he'll tell me what I dreamed of hearing, that he wants kids and to marry me right away.

He'll tell me how much he struggles and suffers, reminding himself of us two, under the moon looking for the big dipper.

Not even 3 months after the break-up, I'll see him crawling, camping out in the rain drenched at my apartment's doorstep.

To all the men who go through hell because their girl is somewhat annoying, but so sweet, possessive et clingy.

Don't wait for her to leave, hold on to her, marry her, before another bomb tell her 'I love you' etc., etc...

(a) Little heart fell... for a bombshell.

(a) Little heart fell... and it hurts, it hurts.

I fell for a bombshell, the kind you rarely see.

The heart goes 'boom' and falls.

On a bomb.

I fell for a bombshell, one that talks to you about kids.

The heart goes 'boom' and falls.

On a time-bomb.