Saturday, November 15, 2014

Jacques Brel - The flat land



Original Title: "Le plat pays"
With the North Sea for last wasteland
And waves of dunes to stop the waves
And vague rocks which the tides go past
And which have forever the heart at low tide
With an infinite amount of mist to come
With the east wind listen to it hold
The flat land which is mine.

With cathedrals for only mountains
And black church towers for greasy poles
Where stone devils take down the clouds
With the passing days as only journey
And paths of rain for only goodbye
With the west wind listen to it want
The flat land which is mine.

With a sky so low that a canal got lost
With a sky so low that it makes humility
With a sky so grey that a canal hanged itself
With a sky so grey that it has to be forgotten
With the north wind that comes to tear itself apart
With the north wind listen to it creak
The flat land which is mine.

With a little bit of Italy that would come down the Scheldt
With Frida the blond when she becomes Margot
When the sons of November comes back to us in May
When the plain is smoking and trembles under July.
When the wind is at laughing,
When the wind is at the wheat,
When the wind is from the south, listen to it sing
The flat land which is mine.

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