Que Reste-t-il de Nos Amours
Charles Trénet
What’s Left of Our Loves
Tonight the wind knocking at my door
Tells me about the loves that are no more
In front of the fire that’s dying down
Tonight it’s an autumn song
In the house that’s shivering
And I think of distant days
What’s left of our loves?
What’s left of those beautiful days?
A photo, an old photo
From my youth
What’s left of the sweet notes?
Of April months, of rendezvous?
A memory that haunts me
Endlessly
Faded happiness, hair in the wind
Stolen kisses, moving dreams
What’s left of all that?
Tell me
A little village, an old steeple
A landscape so well hidden
And in a cloud, the dear face
Of my past
The tender words we whisper
The purest caresses
The vows deep in the woods
The flowers we find in a book
Whose scent intoxicates you
Have flown away, why?
What’s left of our loves?
What’s left of those beautiful days?
A photo, an old photo
From my youth
What’s left of the sweet notes?
Of April months, of rendezvous?
A memory that haunts me
Endlessly
Faded happiness, hair in the wind
Stolen kisses, moving dreams
What’s left of all that?
Tell me
A little village, an old steeple
A landscape so well hidden
And in a cloud, the dear face
Of my past
A little village, an old steeple
A landscape so well hidden
And in a cloud, the dear face
Of my past
