At the center of the room, before the table
On the bottom of the plate, food and sadness
We look at each other, we touch and we keep our silence
And we disagree from the moment we speak
Fear, fear, fear, fear, fear, fear...
Each one keeps their secret more and more locked up,
Your hand in a fist, your mouth open
Your heart deserts, your hand still
Sealed, closed tight
Wet with fear
Father at the head of the table: it is lunch time
My mother calls me: it is lunch time!
My younger sister, her long, dark hair
My grandma complains: it is lunch time!
(Hey, boy!)
I am still too young for all this sorrow,
Let's stop with all this and take care of our lives
Otherwise, death comes or something like that
And drag us still young and not having experienced much
Or something like that, or something like that
Or something like that, like that
Or something like that, or something like that
Or something like that, like that