In my little life, there are two boys.
There's a brunnette and a blonde,
Who love me, both in their own way.
The brunnette has a sad and serious air,
And the blonde has laughing eyes.
I really believe it's the brunnette that I prefer.
He's younger, he's more handsome.
He has a beautiful skin tone,
A pristine heart, full of only beautiful things.
Yes, but the blonde only has to turn up
With his air of laughter,
It's for him that I want to be beautiful.
The brunnette speaks to me seriously
about his love, and its torment.
With a beautiful voice singing,
He tells me he will surely kill himself,
If I do always love him
Or if one day I would be unkind.
I have the impression, making me feel odd,
That it's really him who has the best role.
There's nothing to say, it's him who loves me.
When I talk to the blonde about killing himself,
He tells me, "no, you must be joking".
But I love to kiss him all the same.
It happened at the end of August,
While we understood none of it.
He came to drink some beer,
When he'd emptied his at his place.
We heard a little knock,
The lady of the house was not proud,
Yet he was still, relaxed as always,
With a little hole in front.
My god, this story is silly.
It was my blonde who left,
leaving me a short note,
"I've laughed enough, goodbye my pretty."