La Complainte de La Butte

At the top of St. Vincent street
A poet and a stranger
Loved each other for a moment
But he never saw her again
He composed this song
Hoping that his stranger
One spring morning will hear it
Somewhere at the corner of a street

The moon too pale
Caresses the opal
Of your jaded eyes
Princess of the street
Be welcome
In my wounded heart
The stairs of the hill
Are hard on the poor
The wings of the windmills
Protect the lovers

Little street urchin
I feel your small hand
Searching for mine
I feel your chest
And your slender waist
I forget my sorrow

I smell on your lips
A scent of fever
Of a poorly fed child
And under your caress
I feel a drunkenness
That overwhelms me

The stairs of the hill
Are hard on the poor
The wings of the windmills
Protect the lovers
But now it's floating
The moon is trotting
The princess too
Under the moonless sky
I cry in the dusk
My vanished dream