J'ai la montre arretee J'sais meme pas l'heure qu'il est Le telephone a sonne J'm'suis pas reveille Direction salle de bain J'me fais couler un bain
Boum ! Boum ! Quand la musique me tape tape tape Oui dans la tete J'sais plus c'que je fais, j'sais plus c'que je dis Oui c'est maintenant, sans cigarette
J'etais en train d'chanter mes chansons sentimentales Devant un producteur qui, lui, lisait son journal Soudain il m'a r'garde, m'a dit "le look, t'es
Traduzione: Eleganza. Non ricordo tutte le vacanze.
of course L'hypothese d'un malentendu est exclue Madame n'a cesse d'etre douce Echantillon decollete en V Pourquoi m'as-tu quitte ? Fleche assortie Seule particularite elegance
J?ai vu decliner comme un songe, cruel mensonge! Tout mon bonheur. Au lieu de la douce esperance, l?ai la souffrance et la douleur. Autrefois ma folle
(Lyrics: Janey Diamond / Music: Gold-Bloss) He is sitting on a hill A vapid night is crawling through the vale The trees are fangs of transiency The
Better it would be for me And better it would have been Had I not been born, not grown Not been brought into the world Not had to come to this earth
The Devils weds a widow Death another's leftovers Better to lie on a willows Rest on alder boughs Then upon a widow's bed On a used woman's pillow Sweeter
Long evenings full on longing Low-spirited my mornings Full of longing too my nights And all times the bitterest. 'Tis my lovely I long for It is my
Many rocks the rapid has A lot of billows the sea More plentiful are my cares Then cones on a spruce Beard moss on a juniper Gnarls upon a pine bark
Truly they lie, they talk utter nonsense Who say that music reckon that the kantele Was fashioned by a god Out of a great pike's shoulders From a water
Truly they lie, they talk utter nonsense Who say that music reckon that the kantele Was fashioned by God Out of a great pike's shoulders From a water
Old folk remember And those today learn How before their time Life was different here: Without the sun people lived Groped about without the moon With
The calloo's spirits are low Swimming on the chill water But the orphan's are lower Walking down the village street. The sparrow's belly is chill Sitting
What the thrush toils at The partridge asks for The hapless one takes The troubled one steals Puts upon a spade Sets on a runner Hides under a door Shields
In the vale where I once listened out for the light Where the little birds warble The ptarmigans babble And my heart looked for some rest from its trouble
