Original title: "Je parle pour celui qui a manqué le train"
Year: 1970
I talk for the one who missed the train
and who stays alone on the platform, he doesn't care
Toulouse, eternity, sixty years of train
What's that ticket that has been put in my hand?
I talk for the one who missed the train
He would feel annoyed with himself to embark on that trip
and of living he does not care. His life is going away from him
In the cars of the joy of living of the first classes and he doesn't care
This train smells of sweat, the women laughing
The shouts of children, the shaved mug of the officers
The haughty stare of the made pregnant women
The causes, the flags, the cheap, the revolt
It's a very grey morning, very beautiful of a province
You go in the silence of the stalls and of the balconies
You walk in the street, you don't care, you make fun
of yourself, of everything, of nothing, of your life that is going away.
It'd be nice to leave alone for a trip
The dreamt life, the death trembling from perfumes
And in the paradise without noises, like a childhood
where the women's underwear are going, it seems.
