Mandela, pendant ce temps [English translation]

I was nearly a teenager

Bothered by the emerging rock scene

Singer in short-lived bands

Never knew what to do with my hands

Two or three years had already gone by

With Mandela on his camp bed

A little later in my way

Protesting against the war

Hair plastered over my ears

Here as in Vietnam

You, you wanted to be married in white

And Mandela still inside

Sent down for a specific idea

No colour is subservient

The cause for which he is the apostle

There is no colour better than another

In the world that he imagines

No colour dominates

The start of the battle

We do not bow down

The concerts eight days a week

And now the children come

Placing a roof on our story

The kites, the seesaws

The wildflowers, the dragonflies

And Mandela in his cell

Sent down for a specific idea

No colour is subservient

The cause for which he is the apostle

There is no colour better than another

In the world that he imagines

No colour dominates

The start of the battle

We do not bow down…

We do not bow down…

My darling, my beloved, my child

On the morning of your twenty seventh year

Think of all that you’ve been able to do

Several times around the world

Imagine all that time

Mandela on his camp bed

Sent down for a specific idea

No colour is subservient

The cause for which he is the apostle

There is no colour better than another

In the world that he imagines

No colour dominates

To think he was sent down for that

At the core of his ideal

All the colours are equal

The happiness down here

All the colours have a right to it

In the corridors of the gyms 1

All the colours mix

The start of the battle

We do not bow down…

We do not bow down…

We do not bow down…

1. In 'the world of sport'