Il y a

There is
some thyme, some heather
and pine woods
nothing too clever
There is
streams, clearings nothing to make
a dish from this place

There is
smells of mint
and chimneys
and fires inside
There is
days and slow nights
and the absent story
banally...

And far from everything... far from me
that's where you feel at home
from where you leave, where you return each time
and where everything will end

There is
children, grandmothers
a small church
and a big café
There is
at the bottom of the cemetery
joys, miseries
and time passed
There is
a small school
and wooden benches
just like before
There is
images that stick
to the tips of your fingers
and your heart that beats

And far from everything... far from me
that's where you feel at home
from where you leave, where you return each time
and where everything will end

And the more the land is arid
the greater this love is
like a miner to his mine, a sailor to his ocean
the more ungrateful nature is, greedy for sweat and mud
because we so desperately need to be needed
it bears the marks of their pain and their blood
like a mother slightly prefers her most fragile child

And far from everything, far from me
that's where you feel at home
from where you leave, where you return each time
and where everything will end...