Les pantins de naphtalene [English translation]

My little Sunday girl

Always wore her pleated skirt

She walked stiff as a plank

To avoid scuffing her patent leather shoes

However much her curls shone in the sun

She could still feel last night’s rollers

She wore her crown of thorns

Poor mothball puppets

I was dressed in white ankle socks

I was given a side parting

In my smart Sunday trousers

I went to pretend to pray

I would be the first to get to church

So the others wouldn’t speak ill of me

The children were put in a display case

Poor mothball puppets

I’ll always have in my heart

That yellowed image, that scent of other times

I’ll always have in my heart

But now I’ve left my village

In my neighbourhood there’s no bell tower

And the kids from the fifteenth floor

Take their girlfriends to the flicks

But every weekend

There are images which come back to me

And at the end of every Saturday

I see once more the mothball puppets

I’ll always have in my heart

That yellowed image, that scent of other times

I’ll always have in my heart

My little Sunday girl

Who always wore her pleated skirt

And who walked stiff as a plank

To avoid scuffing her patent leather shoes

My little Sunday girl

Who always wore her pleated skirt

And who walked stiff as a plank

To avoid scuffing her patent leather shoes