Mom's crazy
That can't be helped
Still it's some comfort
that she rather likes us
When she soars
we hold her hand
like a dizzy balloon
blown in the rising wind
Be quiet, Léopold
Don't say a word
These petty1 people
wouldn't understand a thing
When Mom laughs
we forget that we're hungry
that it's time for school
that we're afraid of the neighbours
She is our idol
Our heart is filled with her
They must not steal her from us
or carry her afar
Be quiet, Léopold
Don't say a word
These petty people
wouldn't understand a thing
Mom's crazy
That can't be helped
Now I don't want her to be stolen
or carried afar
1. lit "these people (wrapped) in their scarves"