Complainte De La Butte

The moon too pale
Places a diadem
On your red hair
The moon too red
Splashes with glory
Your skirt full of holes
The moon too pale
Caresses the opal
Of your jaded eyes
Princess of the street
Be welcome
In my wounded heart

The stairways up to the hill
Can make the wretched sigh
While windmill wings
Of the mill
Shelter you and I

Little beggar girl
I feel your little hand
Searching for mine
I feel your chest
And your slim waist
I forget my sorrow
I smell on your lips
A feverish smell
Of a poorly fed child
And under your caress
I feel a drunkenness
That annihilates me

The stairways up to the hill
Can make the wretched sigh
While windmill wings
Of the mill
Shelter you and I

But here it trots
The floating moon
The princess too
Under the moonless sky
I cry in the dusk
My vanished dream

The stairways of the hill
Are harsh to the wretched
The wings of the windmills
Protect the lovers