Original Title: "Je suis plus près de toi"
Text: "Luc Bérimont"
Music: "Lise Médini"
Year: 1964
I plant a dry tree in the belly of the fire
The worn wick of the day blackens under the rain
The evening's noises are born. I hear the oxen come in
The pendulum has ground minutes of soot
I'm closer to you
Who confuses the route
And who lets my voice
Drift on the ponds
I'm closer to you
Than the wind in the towers
Than the disgust of the days
which sits at the table and taunts me
I will know from now on how to suffer from love
Lost on the edge of the meadows in the muds of fall
I knew the sorrow in Paris in the yards
It's well a similar pain, a similar trick
I'm closer to you
Who confuses the route
And who lets my voice
Drift on the ponds
I'm closer to you
Than the wind in the towers
Than the disgust of the days
Which sits at the table and taunts me
Winter is a dead king feathered with crows
He opens, he was expecting me, he laughs at me like a brother
The bedrooms are adorned with a checker of old bones
The age I have tonight weights like a stone
I'm closer to you
Who confuses the route
And who lets my voice
Drift on the ponds
I'm closer to you
Than the wind in the towers
Than the disgust of the days
Which sits at the table and taunts me
Jacques Bertin's version:
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