Me, without hair,
am a page with no grid.
A perfume with no bottle.
A door closed without a handle.
A marble with no track.
A fisherman without his best bait.
Don Giovanni without a fling.
Me, without you, a sceptre with no king.
I don't want to apologise anymore
if on my head I keep wearing this type of Medusa
or forest... it's not only a sign of protest.
But it's a shelter for insects,
a nest for the birds
who love each other calmy between my thoughts and the sky.
It is the part of me that looks more like me.
I always live next to my hair.
Oh, I always live next to my hair.
I always live next to my hair.
Oh, I always live next to my hair.
I haven't come here on a motorcycle.
I didn't comb with bombs in my hand.
I didn't plug my fingers in a socket.
I didn't wash with bleach.
I'm one of those who wear
their hair long by choice,
and who don't use any tricks,
you take your wigs off.
I always live next to my hair... in the world,
I always live next to my hair.
I always live next to my hair... in the world,
I always live next to my hair.
(In the world...)
You, without jewellery,
are a page with no grid.
A perfume with no bottle.
A door closed without a handle.
A marble with no track.
A fisherman without his best bait.
Don Giovanni without a fling.
You, without me, a sceptre with no king.
(You always live next to your jewellery...)
A sceptre with no king.
(I always live next to my hair...)
A sceptre with no king.
(You always live next to your jewellery...)
A sceptre with no king.
(I always live next to my hair...)
But when I lose my sense and I feel like nothing,
I ask my hair to confirm my existence
and represent something for others,
something unique, alive, true and honest.
Despite this unfortunate increase of pride,
every day I live, I try
to be a man and not a bush.
(I always live next to my hair...)
In the world.
(I always live next to my hair...)
(You always live next to your jewellery...)
(I always live next to my hair...)