À quoi il sert ? [English translation]

Dreams, promises, illusions return a hundred times

Images and lips, faces, as we're not made of wood


And all these letters we don't finish


And these films, and these books, these poems that are only talk about that

And those eyes, those looks, those smiles that we meet only once

Time passes - all those words we never speak

What’s the point of

This love inside us


Who do we give it to?

All those dreams that shake us


If it's for nobody

To whom can we confess? 


What is the point of

This music playing everywhere? 


For whom does it play?

Our body, which beats, which boils,

To whom do we give it?

To whom do we confess?

There are skies, there are nights, stars giving us hope


Morning shades of pink, shades of blue cover the black


Like the beginning of a story


I want the sea, the sun, and images to blind us


I want to cry nothing, hope, 
wait and run


Give without wondering.

What is the point of

This love inside us?

To whom do we give it?

Those angers and taboos


If it is for nobody

To whom we can confess? 


What’s the point of

This life we're living despite everything? 


Who is it for?

Why fight until the end


If it's for nobody


To whom do we dedicate it?