Original Title: "Votre fille a vingt ans"
Text: Georges Moustaki
Year: 1968, 1970 (Moustaki's release)
Your daugther is twenty years old, how time is flying by
Madam, yesterday still she was so small
And her first torments are your first wrinkles
Madam, and your first worries
Each of her twenty years counted twice for you
You know already all what she is discovering
You have forgotten the things which trouble her
Madam, and troubled as well
People thought she was pretty and here she is beautiful
For an individual almost as young as her
A boy who resembles to the one for whom
Madam, you had grown in beauty
They make for themselves a garden from a corner of bad weeds
Knotting the prime of life into a superb bouquet
It has been a long while that you have been put in a spray
Madam, spring is forgetting about you
Each night which seems to you similar to every night
While you are dreaming your reasonable dreams
Of pleasure and of love they make themselves guilty
Madam, in the hollow of the same bed
But guilty ones never had so much innocence
So little regrets and so little concern
That they do not even ask for you indulgence
Madam, for their tender offence
Up to the day when maybe at the first tear
At the first love's and woman's sorrow
It'll be up to you to smile Madam
Madam, for her to smile at you.
for her to smile at you.
Moustaki's version:
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