Elle écoute pousser les fleurs
Francis Cabrel
She listens to the flowers grow
She listens to the flowers grow
In the midst of the noise of engines
With rainwater
And the scent of incense
She travels from time to time
She has never heard
The dogs barking in the street
She makes golden bread
Every day at four o'clock
She lives her life in color
She collects
The scents of autumn
And twigs of dead wood
When winter comes
She closes her books
And then gently
She falls asleep on wool carpets
Among Indian dolls
On the downy wings
Of her two white pigeons
Until the first days of spring
She says she will
Travel around the world
That she will be back for dinner
The fragile moments
The useless words
She knows all this
When she listens to the flowers grow
In the midst of the noise of engines
When others lose control
When I manage to escape
It's to her that I go to sleep
And it's true that I'm afraid of giving her a child...
