La vie d'artiste [English translation]

I met you by chance,

here, there, or somewhere else,

maybe you can remember it.

We loved each other without knowing each other,

and even if that's not true,

we have to believe the old story.

I gave you what I had

to sing about, to dream about.

And you had faith in my bohemian ways,

but if at twenty years old you thought

that people can live on nothing,

your point of view is no longer the same.

That famous month's end

which, since it's been you and me,

comes back to us seven times a year,

and our evenings without movies,

and my success which never happens,

and our insecure pittance.

You can see that I've forgoten nothing

in this tear-inducing assessment

that describes our failure.

"You've still got some good days coming,

make the best of them my poor love,

good times go by rapidly."

And now you're going to leave,

both of us are going to get older,

each for himself, how sad that is.

You can take the hi-fi,

I'll keep the piano,

I'll carry on with my life as an artist.

Later without really knowing why

a stranger, an awkward blunderer,

reading my name on a bill1,

will talk to you about my successes

but a bit sad you who know

"You'll tell him that I don't give a damn...

that I don't give give a damn..."

1. a theatre bill or notice, not a request for payment