Le métèque [English translation]

The face of a foreigner, a wandering jew, a greek shepherd

Hair blown to the four winds,

And the faded eyes of a dreamer,

A dreamer who no longer often dreams,

With my thieving hands, my musician's hands, a prowler

Who's stolen from so many gardens,

With my mouth that has drunk, and kissed and bitten

and never assuaged my hunger.

With the face of a foreigner, a wandering jew, a greek shepherd,

Thief and vagabond,

My skin that's touched the sun of many summers

And all those who wore skirts

With my heart that has made to suffer as much as it has suffered

Without making a fuss

With my soul that no longer has the slightest chance of salvation

To avoid purgatory.

With the face of a foreinger, a wandering jew, a greek shepherd,

Hair blown to the four winds,

I will come, my sweet prisoner

My soul mate, my living spring,

I will come to toast your twenty years

And I will be a blood prince, dreamer or adolescent

As you will make your choice

And every day we will make an eternity of love

Until we die of it.

And every day we will make an eternity of love

Until we die of it.