I'm plodding through meteric tons of reality.
I'm in over my head with Cartesianism.
Days and nights on end without anything virtual,
nothing but absolute certitudes.
My streets are quite straight and they all
lead me
to planned places.
My hours are shot without dramatization.
So does my life fade away.
When I open that door,
a ticket for a moment,
a door through which others carry me1
I like those who lie to me
(chorus)
Thank you Thomas, thank you, brothers.
Let there be your lights
Thank you Charlie, thank you Steven,
Robert and you François2.
Thank you Vincent, Paul and the others3
for these eternal hours.
Thank you, Morricone and all your apostoles
for all these moments of happy life.
That's where my life is,
I forget about the other.
Thank you, prettifying dreams!
I want some girls and some flying motorcycle,
and the faces of Marlon and Jean-Paul,
the face-pulling of Louis and Fernandel,
I want to brush Sophia Loren.
I want De Niro's bouts of madness, I want
Romy's adrenaline,
to see Al Pacino win his wars
and soothe Marilyn.
And so push this door open
A ticket for a moment
This door where others carry me away
I like those who lie to me.
(chorus x2)
1. mostly there for aliteration2. or maybe him3. pun on this movie (he skips François since he already named him)