La complainte de la Butte [English translation]

Atop of Saint-Vincent street

A poet and an unknown woman

Loved each other the span of an instant

But he never saw her again

This son he composed

Hoping that his unknown woman

One springtime morning will hear it

Somewhere at a street corner

The moon too pale

Puts down a tiara

On your red hair

The moon too red

Of glory splatters

Your petticoat full of holes

The moon too pale

Caresses the opal

Of your weary eyes

Princes of the street

Be welcome

In my wounded heart

The stairs of the mound

are harsh to the destitutes

The wings of the windmills

Protect the lovers

Young beggar

I feel your hand

Who searches for my hand

I feel your bosom

And your tiny waist

I forget my sorrow

I feel on yout lip

A smell of fever

Of badly nourished kid

And under your caress

I feel a intoxication

Who annihilates me

The stairs of the mound

are harsh to the destitutes

The wings of the windmills

Protect the lovers

But here comes the rain

The moon flees

The princess too

Under the moonless sky

I cry in the shadows

My vanished dream...