Léo Ferré - The sad song

Original Title: "La chanson triste"
Year: 1955

When sorrow knocks on your closed door
Give it fire for the sake of God
If your flame is dead and everything is resting
It'll go away I have not done better
If your flame is dead and everything is resting
It'll go away I have not done better

Flowers of my life were white roses
I've given them to all my friends
to pluck their petals under 4 planks
I'd have done better to decorate my life with them
to pluck their petals under 4 planks
I'd have done better to decorate my life with them

I had clothes made from clouds
I had hair like flags
And my well-behaved mane was floating to the wind
Then I have lost it all, there was nothing left but the skin
And my well-behaved mane was floating to the wind
Then I have lost it all, there was nothing left but the skin

I went away under ten feet of clay
Stuck face to face by a sky of wood
And telling my verses to my docile verses
Who would have rhymed me differently than I did
And telling my verses to my docile verses
Who would have rhymed me differently than I did

When sorrow knocks on your closed door
Give it fire for the sake of God
And the last rose would flare up
Which I'd go and pick up between two farewells
And the last rose would flare up
Which I'd go and pick up between two farewells

Les Compagnons de la Chanson - Bécaud - I belong to you

Original Title: "Je t'appartiens"
Text: Pierre Delanoë
Music: Gilbert Bécaud
Year: 1955, 1956 (Les compagnons de la Chanson's version)
The song was a hit and adapted to english to become the famous song "Let it be me"

Like clay
the fragile insect
the docile slave
I belong to you

Of my whole being
You are the only master
I have to submit
I belong to you

If you condemn
Throwing my soul
At the heart of the flames
I can't do anything about it

If you condemn
If you curse me
Here is my soul
Here are my hands

With the sorrows
Love and hate
Flowing in my veins
I belong to you

What can I do
To satisfy you
Lord of the earth
On my path

Like the angels
To sing the praises
But I am not angel
You know it well

I am nothing but a man
Nothing but a poor man
Who likes you
Like a buddy

Often I think
That in your immense
Palace of silence
You must be well

Sometimes I think
That in your immense
Palace of silence
We must be well

Gilbert Bécaud's version:

Mouloudji - Verrières - My pal the Gipsy

Original Title: "Mon pot' le gitan"
Text: Jacques Verrières
Music: Marc Heyral
Year: 1955

My pal the Gipsy is an odd fellow
A mug all black, eyes all blue
He stays for hours without saying a word
Sitting beside the stove, at the bottom of the bistrot
That guy, a caravan wanders in his head,
And when it travels, never does it stop
A whole bunch of sceneries come out of his eyes
My pal the Gipsy, is one odd fellow

My pal the Gipsy is not a funny guy
And in our bistrot, noboby understands him
Like all those guys, he has his guitar
A dirty guitar which makes you brood
When he starts playing, the old caravan
runs wild in his head, the belote players stops
And nothing no more, we hurt inside.
My pal the Gipsy is not a funny guy

My pal the Gipsy left one day
And God only knows where he trails his life
That guy was a great musician
That I was certain of, I felt it
The boss told me someone came looking for him
A great music hall wanted to buy him
My pal the Gipsy, he refused, a shrug, and he left

I had the feeling to lose a friend,
And yet that guy never told me anything
But he left me a piece of his caravan
And in my small head, there is some dream wandering
His weird music, stayed inside of me
When I think of him, it happens I sing
You, damn Gipsy who smelled of the blues
Afterall your music was full of hope.

Les Frères Jacques - General for sale

Original Title: "Général à vendre"
Year: 1955

Early morning I got up it was Sunday
To the old cart I hitched up the white mare
To go to the market
In the chief town of the country
Apparently there were generals for sale

But the sun crushed the white road so much
The mare stopped so often under the branches
That when I was there
No one had waited for me
And all the generals had been sold

Although over there at the very bottom of the fair's field
By a stroke of luck one was remaining
He wasn't covered with glory
But with a little bit of Ripolin²
He could still look very well

I traded him against a crate of unripe apples
Four cauliflowers and a slice of bread with jam
All this for a general
It was really not that bad
And then I loaded him in the cart

At home I received bitter reproaches
One more apparently I had let myself be pushed around
A General in that state
Was worth much less than that
But as it was done too bad for me

And then the kids got scared of his mustache
It was red and it made them cry
We cut him one side of it
But the dog started to bark
So we left the other half

He did nothing so to not stain his beautiful suit
Time to time he peeled a few vegetables
Or repaired the stepladder
Or unblocked the washbasin
But he wasn't even able to play piano

Yet some evening, some summer evenings
The General sat down on the straw
And the eyes lost in the vastness
He told us about his battles

He told us about the Dardanelles
When he was only a Colonel
And the campaign of Orient
When he was only a Major
The Napoleonian epic
When he was only a Captain
And then the hundred years war
When he was just a lieutenant
The Crusades and Pepin the Short
When he was just a chief-sergeant
And the elephants of Hannibal
When he was just a corporal
The Thermopylae, Leonidas
When he was just a second class
And Ramses II, the first was
When his mother was canteen manageress

Then the General until the early morning
Unwound the thread of his vast story
Then he fell asleep on his bundle of hay
And us without speaking
We were dreaming of glory

He stayed at home like that
Up to fall
Without working without finding life monotonous
It even surprised us
To learn from the parish priest
That he had made twins to the maid

And then here is that one fine morning
Of December
He entered without even knocking
In my bedroom
He just had read in the newspaper
That he was promoted Marshal
Thus he was leaving us it was inevitable

I drove him back to town
I have been given back my cauliflowers
And my crates
And without useless emotion
Without tears and without saying a word
We part our ways like true heroes

At home life went back to normal without adventures
There is no one left to steal our jam
The General at the bistrot
Had planted a flag
For motherland I paid the bill

I never went back to the market
But sometimes in the sky of a summer night
Five stars can be seen
And it hurts us a little
Oh never buy a General

²French enamel paint, expression to do something up

Boris Vian - The Deserter

Original Title: "Le Déserteur"
Year: 1955, 1964 (Reggiani's version)

Mister the President
I am writing you a letter
That you will maybe read
If you have the time

I've just received
My military papers
To go to war
Before wedsneday evening

Mister the President
I don't want to do it
I am not on earth
To kill poor people

It's not to make you mad
I have to tell you
I have made my decision
I am going to desert

Since I am born
I have seen my dad die
I have seen my brothers go away
And cry my children

My mother suffered so much
That she is in her grave
And does not care of the bombs
And does not care of the worms

When I was a prisonner
I have been robbed of my wife
I have been robbed of my soul
And of all my dear past

Tomorrow early morning
I will close my door
At the nose of the years bygone
I will go on the roads

I will beg my life
On the roads of France
From Britany to Provence
And I will tell people

Refuse to obey
Refuse to do it
Don't go to war
Refuse to go away

If one has to give his blood
Go give yours
You have an holier-than-thou attitude*
Mister the President

If you pursue me
Warn your gendarmes²
That I won't have any weapon
And that they will be able to shoot

*You are a good apostle is the word by word translation
²gendarmes are policemen belonging to the army branch

Serge Reggiani live:

Serge Reggiani's version:

Marcel Mouloudji's version:

Marc and André - Farewell Nathalie

Original Title: "Adieu Nathalie"
Text: Pierre Latour
Year: 1955

In the street slowly,
You were going slowly
In the street that was shining under the rain

In the foreign city
You were going toward the harbor
Where the boats were sleeping
In their craddle of rain

And I, I was following you
Sadly in the night
I was hearing your clear step
Nathalie

I was following my love, in the city asleep
Where the silent sky cried onto the big port

On the quay, a sailor hugged you in his arms
Your joined faces were streaming with water
He gave you the hand and you left
On a beautiful white boat, from the Canary Islands

On a beautiful white boat, my song is over