L'âme des poêtes (Longtemps, longtemps, longtemps)

Long, long, long
After the poets have disappeared
Their songs still run through the streets
The crowd sings them a little absentmindedly

Ignoring the name of the author
Not knowing for whom their heart beat
Sometimes we change a word, a phrase
And when we run out of ideas

We go la la la la la la
Long, long, long
After the poets have disappeared
Their songs still run through the streets

One day, maybe, long after me
One day we will sing
This tune to soothe a sorrow
Or some happy fate

Will it make an old beggar live
Or put a child to sleep
Will it play by the water's edge
In spring on a phonograph

Long, long, long
After the poets have disappeared
Their light souls and their songs
That make people happy, that make them sad

Girls and boys
Bourgeois, artists
Or vagabonds