Mister President
I’m writing you a letter
That perhaps you will read
If you have the time
I just received
My call-up papers
To go to war
Before Wednesday evening
Mister President
I don’t want to do it
I am not on Earth
To kill some poor people
It’s not to make you angry
I have to tell you
I made up my mind
I’m going to desert
Since I was born
I saw my father die
I saw my brothers leave
And my children cry
My mother suffered so much
That she is in her grave
And doesn’t care about bombs
And doesn’t care about worms
When I was a prisoner
They stole my wife
They stole my soul
And all my past that was dear to me
Tomorrow early in the morning
I’ll shut my door
In the face of the dead years
I will take to the road
I will beg for my living
On the roads of France
From Brittany to Provence
And I will say to people:
“Refuse to obey
Refuse to do it
Don’t go to war
Refuse to leave”
If we have to give our blood
Go and give yours
You are a hypocrite
Mister President
If you come after me
Inform your policemen
That I won’t have any weapons
And that they’ll be free to shoot.