Et l'on n'y peut rien [English translation]

Like a thread between the one and the other

Invisible, it imposes its connections

in the wanderings of the subconscious (méandre means a turning in a river's course, the same word probably exists in English, but I preferred the more literal 'wandering')

It walks with impunity

And everything trembles a little bit

And the rest fades out

Only in our bellys

A knot, a hunger.

It makes a king from a slave

And can damn the saints

The honnest man or the sage

And nothing one can do about it

And one resists it, one builds walls

Happy times (lit.: happinesses, but that's bad English of course), well sorted photographs

Like a terrorist it pierces armour

One moment everything is wiped away

You crawl and you spy

And you lie words

You read her friends (not sure about this verse)

(And) you love her paintings

And you try to cross her path

Suddenly you are fifteen (again)

Everything changes its foundation

And nothing one can do about it

It invites itself when one doesn't expect it

When one believes in it, it flees away allready

My brother who, one day, tasted it

Never again will you recover/heal

It leaves us empty

And more dead than alive

[It's] it [that] decides

(while) one only pretends

It chooses its paths (?)

Its coming and going

That's the way of love

And nothing one can do about it.