The barrel organs that used
to sing in the streets
sang their love
then vanished.
Lonesome between its two walls
a gloomy side alley
goes sliding in the dark
to meet its boulevard.
A tender song
that's been around for a while
resurrects for a moment
all those who loved each other.
One, two, three spins.
The barrel organs
know the magic of the old
streets of Paris very well.
The barrel organs
are no church organs,
yet their rusty tunes
can sing so well.
As the handle spins,
bits of songs in the shadow
of the alleys,
the nice scores play.
As they shout themselves hoarse
in the middle of boulevards,
some boys and girls
dance on the sidewalk.
One, two, three spins.
The barrel organs
are a symphony
for the streets of Paris.
For spinning so long
in the streets of Paris
the barrel organs
lost their music.
Years went by,
tunes got old
but the organs from the past
often haunt the night.
Sometimes, two lovers,
when they're strongly in love,
can hear them still,
playing just for them.
One, two, three spins.
Barrel organs,
I can still hear you
in the streets of Paris.
One, two, three spins.
One, two, three spins...