Frappe avec ta tête (A l'écrivain argentin)
Daniel Balavoine
Hit with your head (To the Argentine writer)
Under torture
Behind the walls
Eyes filled with fear
The man with pure vows
Suffers and endures
The dull blows of the law
Drowned by the red bubbles
His silent words
Rise and crash against the wall
The writer bends but does not break
Feels a strange pain in his fingers
Stuttering delirium, he who lives will conquer
In the poet's cell
When the jailer comes near him
When no one worries anymore
The man we thought was asleep
Strikes with his head
Out of ideas
They cut you off
Both your tongue and your fingers
To prevent you
From expressing yourself
But they don't know
That we don't fight
Against men
Who can do anything, especially for what they believe
And the crippled man finds his voice again
Defies the world by coming down from his cross
And freedom comes out anonymity
In the poet's cell
When the jailer comes near him
When no one worries anymore
The man we thought was asleep
Strikes with his head
Strikes with your head
