Thursday, October 16, 2014

Georges Brassens - The passing birds


Original Title: "Les oiseaux de passage"
Text: poem by Jean Richepin adapted by G. Brassens

Oh happy life of the bourgeois
Be it that april buds
Or december freezes,
They are proud and happy.

That pigeon* is loved,
Three days by his hen-pigeon
It's enough for him, he knows
that love doesn't last

This turkey has always
blessed his destiny
and when the time comes
to die, one must see

This young goose in tears
"It's here I am born
I die near my mother
And I do my duty".

She has done her duty
This means that never
did she have impossible
wishes. That she had

No dreams of moon
No desire of junk
carrying her without rower
On an unknown river.

And all are made so
Live the same life
Always for those people
This is not hideous.

That duck only has one beak
And never felt the desire
Or to have none anymore
Or to have two.

They have no need
of kisses on their lips
And far away from the vain dreams
Far away from bitter worries

Own for only heart
An organ without fever
A regular cuckoo clock
And guaranteed for ten years.

Oh the perfectly happy people.
Suddenly in space
So high that they seem to go
Slowly in great flight

In the shape of a triangle
Arrive glide and pass
Where are they going?...who are they?
How far away from the ground they are

Look at them pass, them
those are the savages
They go where their desire
Wants above mountains

And woods, and seas, and winds
And far from slaveries
The air they drink
Would make your lungs burst

Look at them, before
reaching for their wild dreams
More than one, the wing broken
And blood full their eyes,

Will die. Those poor people
Also have woman and mother
And know to love them
As well as you, better.

To cherish this woman
And feed this mother
They could become
Poultry like you

But they are first of all
Sons of the chimera
Azure thirsty ones
Poets and crazies.

Look at the old cocks
Young edifying goose
Nothing of you will be able to
Climb as high as them

And the little that will come
from them to you
It's their droppings
The bourgeois are troubled
To see the beggars pass

Look at the old cocks
Young edifying goose
Nothing of you will be able to
Climb as high as them

And the little that will come
from them to you
It's their droppings
The bourgeois are troubled
To see the beggars pass

*mug/stupid person

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