It's you against me, it's useless to cry
This pridefulness of separated parents.
It's you against me, it's a fight, we tear and we bash
aided by our lawyer
It's you against me, against the entire world, tirelessly, mercilessly, pitilessly.
When love dies, it's every man for himself,
but, in the middle of all this, what of the children?
What is their wrongdoing, what is their crime,
why are they the victims
of our personal falling out, why them?
Why should they suffer for our problems,
they who came to be when we were still doing well?
It's you against me, what reason can be given
to shock the children so?
You'd want to take them away from me, and I'd have to borrow them,
pick them up and return them!
It's you against me, in this meaningless game,
there is neither conqueror nor conquered.
At the end of the day, it's not only the children who end up hurt!
No more getaways, during Sundays and holidays,
will the law allow us each month!
Your friends will only talk the talk:
I will turn heaven and earth,
but you will not have them!
You against me, it's a hell, it's a horror,
and yet, yesterday, it was joy!
You against me, it was life, its marvels and its follies,
in your arms and in your bed!
It's you against me, this past that ties us together,
we must guard it at all costs.
It would only do us harm to face each other in court.
Come! Let us make honourable amends, let us avoid the irreparable,
the point of no return, so that one day,
still flushed with this pitiable drama,
it will no longer be you against me, my love!