I'm rude. To hell with manners
Me, I have the manners of the legionnaires,
of those who set off at dawn.
No, I don't cry over girls anymore.
I like it when meat is raw at family dinners
Me, I always bring my whisky along
in the whore clubs for the middle class
Me, I love the feasts that taste like you
and the street fights when the people is dead
You, you saw my face at the bottom of the loins
the face that screams rage with clenched fists,
my bottle in my hand, my whisky bottle
In my eyes, the sobs
You can always look for
love stories, their graves.
You can always dig,
I'm not one to end up six feet under
For a lump of meat tasing like hell
put inside books and at the bottom of rivers
and our boats floating there and capsizing.
Look at them sink, drenched in blood
reflected in the eyes of those who liked
their idiotic mouths too much1
Me, I sing for the glory of the speech-less
the ones who bear first names on their shoulders.
I am a brother of sailor, a son of the flesh.
Me, I like it when there are cries, when there is suffering
Me, I like it when you go down the chasm,
to the end of hell and feel the violence of wars.
Yes I do.
In my eyes, the sobs
You can always look for
love stories, their graves.
You can always die,
I'm not one to chase after God
Come on, pour2 me another one, to singe myself
The brandy3 will put into my heart the flame
of those who talk but do no tell.
They can all die, for all I care4
They can always bloat themselves with bad wine.
The looks in their eyes are so poor there.
Indeed.
Looming from the plain, a ship will come,
to bring me away from the harsh love stories.
The legionnaire set off at down.
Then, with the girls who partied too much,
I will be listed as missing after a storm,
shipwrecked by my whisky
Sobs in my glass,
the legionnaires' love stories flow
indeed.
All over the lands
girls are mad about legionnaires
indeed
In embracing arms,
love is sure murderous
indeed
Sobs in my glass
Crazy legionnaires love stories
indeed
May I burn in hell
May our love be murderous
Come on
Come on, pour me another one, to singe myself
The brandy will put the flame into my heart.
They can all die, for all I care
They can always bloat themselves with bad wine.
Looming from the plain, a ship will come,
to bring me away from the harsh love stories.
The legionnaire set off at down.
The legionnaire set off at down.
Then, with the girls who partied too much,
I will be listed as missing after a storm,
shipwrecked in my whisky (x5)
1. I assume this whole paragraph is automatic writing, but frankly it rather sounds like gibberish to me2. assuming "ressers"3. Calvados, a most famous apple brandy named after its region of production4. or more precisely, "this does not mean much to me" or "I'm not very interested in that"