Jacques Brel - To see a friend in tears

Original Title: "Voir un ami pleurer"
Year: 1977

Of course there are the Irish wars
And the tribes without music
Of course all that lack of tender
And there is no America anymore
Of course money does not have a smell
But no smell goes up to your nose
Of course we walk over flowers
But, but to see a friend in tears

Of course there are our defeats
And then death which is at all at the end
Our bodies already tilt the head
Surprised to still be standing
Of course, the unfaithful women
And the murdered birds
Of course, our hearts lose their wings
But, but to see a friend in tears

Of course those exhausted cities
By those fifty year old children
Our powerlessness to help them
And our loves that have toothaches
Of course, the time which is going too fast
Those subways filled with drowned people
The truth which is avoiding us
But, but to see a friend in tears

Of course, our mirrors are upright
Nor the courage to be a jew
Nor the elegance to be a negro
We think ourselves wick but are nothing but tallow
And all those men who are our brothers
So much that we are not surprised anymore
That, out of love, they lacerate us
But, but to see a friend in tears

Jacques Brel - Big Jack (It's too easy)

Original Title: "Grand Jacques (C'est trop facile)"
Year: 1954

It's too easy to enter churches
To pour out all our filth
In front of the parish priest who in the grey light
Closes the eyes so to better forgive us

Would you keep quiet Big Jack
What do you know of the Good Lord
A canticle an image
You don't know anything more of it

It's too easy when the wars are over
To go shout that it was the last one
Bourgeois friends how I envy you
So you don't see your own cemeteries

Would you keep quiet Big Jack
And let them shout so
Let them cry for joy
You who wasn't even a soldier

It's too easy when a love is dying
That it breaks in two because it has been bent too much
To go cry like men cry
As if love lasted forever

Would you keep quiet Big Jack
What do you know of love
Some blues eyes some crazy hair
You know nothing of it

And thus tell yourself Big Jack
And thus tell yourself Big Jack
Tell it often to yourself
It's too easy
It's too easy
To pretend

Jacques Brel - Song without words

Original Title: "Chanson sans paroles"
Year: 1962

I'd have liked my beauty
To write you a song
On this melody
Met one night
I'd have liked my beauty
Just at the Alençon lace
To write you a long poem
To write you a long I love you

I'd have told you "love"
I'd have told you "always"
But of a thousand ways
But through a thousand detours
I'd have told you "Let's leave"
I'd have told you "Let's burn
Let's burn from day to day
From season to season"

But the time for the idea
To lit up on the paper
The time to take a quillpen
The time to sharpen it
But the time to tell myself
How am I going to write it
And the time arrived
When you did not love me anymore

Jacques Brel - Sorry's

Original Title: "Pardons"
Year: 1957

Sorry for that girl
We made cry
Sorry for that gaze
That we leave laughing

Sorry for that face
That a tear changed
Sorry for those houses
Where someone waits for us

And then for all those words
Which we call love words
And that we use
By way of currency
For all those oaths
Which died at daybreak
Sorry for the never's
Sorry for the always's

Sorry for the hamlet
Which never sing
Sorry for the villages
Which have been forgotten

And sorry for the cities
Where noone know one another
Sorry for the countries
Made of non-commissioned officers

Sorry to be of those
Who do not care about anything
And for not having
tried everyday

And then sorry still
And then sorry most of all
For never knowing
Who has to forgive us

Jacques Brel - The song of Jacky

Original title: "La chanson de Jacky"
Year: 1965

Even if one day, in Knokke-Le-Zoute
I become, like I dread,
Singer, for declining women
Even if I sing to them "Mi Corazon"
With the bandoneoning voice
Of an Argentinian from Carcassonne

Even if people call me Antonio
That I burn my last fires
In exchange of a few gifts
Madam, I do what I can

Even if I get drunk on mead
To better be able to talk about virility
To grannies decorated
Like christmas trees

I know that in my drunkenography
Every night for pink elephants
I will sing my morose song
The one of the time when my name was Jacky

To be one hour, just one hour
To be one hour, one hour sometimes,
To be one hour, just during one hour
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful and idiot at the same time

Even if one day in Macau
I become joint governor
Circled with languid women

Even if tired to be a singer
I became blackmailer²
And that it'd be the other ones who sing

Even if people call me the beautiful Serge
That I sell boats filled with opium
Whisky from Clermont-Ferrand
True gays and fake virgins
That I have a bank at each finger
And a finger in each country
That each country would be mine

I still know that every night
Alone at the back of my opium den
For a public made of old Chinese people
I will sing my own song
The one of the time when my name was Jacky

To be one hour, just one hour
To be one hour, one hour sometimes,
To be one hour, just during one hour
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful and idiot at the same time

Even if one day in Paradise
I become, like I'd be surprised of it,
Singer for women with white wings
Even if I sing them Alleluhia
While regretting the time of down there
Where it's not sunday everyday

Even if I am called God the Father
The one who is in the phone book
Between Dieulefit³ and God bless you

Even if I let my beard grow
Even if still too much a sucker
I kill my heart and the pure spirit
wanting to console men

I know still that every night
I will hear in my Paradise
The angels, the Saints and Lucifer
sing to me the song of former times
The one of the time when my name was Jacky

To be one hour, just one hour
To be one hour, one hour sometimes,
To be one hour, just during one hour
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful and idiot at the same time

² Master singer in french
³ Could be translated to Goddidit

Studio version:

Jacques Brel - The desperates

Original title: "Les désespérés"
Year: 1965

They hold each others by the hand
And walk in silence
In those faded cities
which are rocked by drizzle
Only their steps ring
Hummed step by step
They walk in silence
The desperates

They have burnt their wings
They have lost their branches
Shipwrecked in such a way
That death looks white
They come back from loves
They have awaken
They walk silently
The desperates

And I know their way for having walked it
Already more than a hundred times
A hundred times more than halfway
Less old or more bruised
They are going to reach its end
They walk in silence
The desperates

And below the bridge
Water is sweet and deep
Here is the good hostess
Here is the end of the world
They cry their firstname
Like newlyweds
They melt in silence
The desperates

Let stand up the one
who throws them the stone
He only knows of love
The verb "to love oneself"
On the bridge there is nothing left
But a light mist
They are forgotten in silence
The ones who have hoped

Jacques Brel - Madeleine

Year: 1962

Tonight I am waiting for Madeleine
I brought some Lilac
I bring some every week
Madeleine she likes that

Tonight I am waiting for Madeleine
We will take the tram thirty three
To go eat some fries at Eugene's
Madeleine she likes that so much

Madeleine she is my Christmas
She is my own America
Even that she is too good for me
Like her cousin Joël says

But tonight I am waiting for Madeleine
We will go to the cinema
I will tell her "I love you"'s
Madeleine she likes that so much

She is so pretty
She is so all this
She is all my life
Madeleine whom I am waiting for here

Tonight I am waiting for Madeleine
But it's raining on my Lilacs
It's raining like every week
And Madeleine is not coming

Tonight I am waiting for Madeleine
It's too late for the tram thrity tree
Too late for Eugene's fries
Madeleine is not coming

Madeleine she is my horizon
She is my own America
Even that she is too good for me
Like her cousin Gaston says

But tonight I am waiting for Madeleine
I have the cinema left
I will be able to tell her "I love you"'s
Madeleine she likes that so much

She is so pretty
She is so all this
She is all my life
Madeleine who is not coming

Tonight I was waiting for Madeleine
But I have thrown away my Lilacs
I have thrown them like every week
Madeleine won't be coming

Tonight I was waiting for Madeleine
There goes the cinema
I am staying with my "I love you"'s
Madeleine won't be coming

Madeleine she is my hope
She is my own America
But it's certain she is too good for me
Like her cousin Gaspard says

Tonight I was waiting for Madeleine
Here! The last tram is going away
Eugene's must be closing
Madeleine won't be coming

She is, and yet she is so pretty
And yet she is so all this
And yet she is all my life
Madeleine who won't be coming

But tomorrow I will be waiting for Madeleine
I will be bringing some Lilac again
I will bring some every week
Madeleine she will like that

Tomorrow I will be waiting for Madeleine
We will take the tram thirty three
To go eat some fries at Eugene's
Madeleine she will like that

Madeleine she is my hope
She is my own America
Nevermind if she is too good for me
Like her cousin Gaspard says

Tomorrow I will be waiting for Madeleine
We will go to the cinema
I will tell her "I love you"'s
And Madeleine will like that.

Jacques Brel - The last meal

Original Title: "Le dernier repas"
Year: 1963

At my last meal
I want to see my brothers
And my dogs and my cats
And the sea shore

At my last meal
I want to see my neighbors
And then a few chinese
By way of cousins

And I want us to drink there
In addition to communion wine
Of that so pretty wine
That we drank in Arbois
I want us to devour there
After a few soutanes
A pheasant poultry
Coming from the Perigord

Then I want to be taken away
On top of my hill
To see the trees sleeping
While closing their arms
And then I want to still
Throw stones toward the sky
While shouting "God is dead"
One last time

At my last meal
I want to see my donkey
My chickens and my geese
My cows and my women
At my last meal
I want to see those hussies
Of whom I was master and king
And who were my mistresses

When I will have in my paunch
enough to drown the earth
I will break my glass
To ask for silence
And will sing my head off
To the advancing death
The bayard romances
Which scares the nuns

Then I want to be taken away
On top of my hill
To see the evening making its path
Slowly toward the plain
And there, standing up still
I will insult the bourgeois
Without fear and without remorse
One last time

After my last meal
I want people to go away
For them to finish feasting
Elsewhere than under my roof
After my last meal
I want to be installed
Sitting, alone, like a king
Welcoming his vestals
In my pipe, I will burn
My childhood memories
My unfinished dreams
My remains of hope
And I will only keep
To dress my soul
nothing but the idea of a rosebush
And a firstname of a woman
Then I will look at
the top of my hill
Which danses, which is being made out
And ends up sinking
And in the scent of the flowers
Which will soon go out
I know that I will be afraid
One last time

Another version:

Jacques Brel A Mon Dernier Repas par jacque_brel

Jacques Brel - On the square

Original Title: "Sur la place"
Year: 1954

On the square, made warm by the sun
A girl started to dance
She is turning always the same way, alike
to the dancers of antiquities*
On the city, it's too warm
Men and women are dozing
And look through the pane
That girl who is dancing at noon

In this way, some days appears
A flame in our eyes
At the church I was going to
It was called the good Lord
The lover calls it love
The beggar: charity
The sun calls it the day
And the honest man: kindness

On the square vibrating with hot air
Where not even a dog makes its appearance
Swaying like reed
The girl leaps, comes and go
Nor guitar nor tambourin
To accompany her dance
She strikes in her hand
To give herself the rhythm

In this way, some days appears
A flame in our eyes
At the church I was going to
It was called the good Lord
The lover calls it love
The beggar: charity
The sun calls it the day
And the honest man: kindness

On the square where everything is quiet
A girl started to sing
And her song hangs over the town
Hymn of love and kindness
But over the town, it's too warm
And in order to not hear the song
Men close the panes
Like a door between alive and dead ones

In this way, some days appears
A flame in our heart
But we never want
to let its light glimmer
We turn a deaf ear
And we veil our eyes
We do not like the wakening
Of our heart already old

On the square a dog is still howling
Because the girl left
And, like the dog howling death,
Cries for the men
Their destiny

*I am pretty sure J. Brel refers to those little dancers on antique music boxes who turn and turn. Hence the translation about antiquities instead of ancient dancers.
Another version:

Jacques Brel - Sur la place

Sung by Barbara in 1973:

Jacques Brel - I appeal

Original Title: "J'en appelle"
Year: 1957

I appeal to the houses crushed with light
I appeal to the loves that are sun by the rivers
To the blue bursting of the mornings of spring
To the pretty strength of the girls who are twenty-year-old
To the certain coolness of an old well of the desert
To the star which waits the old man who is getting lost
So that rises from us and stronger than a desire
The incredible desire to want to build oneself
While desiring ourselves weak rather than proud
While desiring ourselves cowards rather than horrendous

I appeal to your laugh that you crunch from the sun
I appeal to your cry alike to none other
To the joyful silence which speaks softly
To those words that we say just by looking at one another
To the heavy hand of our sincere love
To our twenties found by everything they hope
So that rises from us and stronger than a desire
The incredible desire to want to build oneself
While preferring rather than the useless glory
And the deep happiness and then the tranquil joy
I appeal to the houses crushed with light
I appeal to your cry alike to none other

Jacques Brel - My childhood

Original Title: "Mon enfance"
Year: 1967

My child hood passed
From greyness to silences
From fake bows
To lack of battles
The winter I was in the belly
Of the big house
Which had dropped anchor
At the north among the bulrushes
The summer half naked
But completely modest
I became Indian
Although already sure
that my full up uncles
Had stolen me my Far West

My childhood passed
Women in the kitchen
Where I was dreaming of China
Grew old in meals
The men at the cheese
Were wrapping themselves with tobacco
Taciturn and wise Flemish
And didn't know me
I who every night
Kneeled for nothing
Played in arpeggios my sorrow
At the bottom of the too big bed
I wanted to take a train
That I have never taken

My childhood passed
From servant to servant
I was already surprised
That they weren't plants
I was surprised still
of those family circles
Strolling from dead to dead
And which are dressed by mourning
I was mostly surprised
To be of that herd
That was teaching me to cry
That I knew too well
I had the eye of the shepherd
But the heart of the lamb

My childhood blew up
It was the teenage years
And the wall of silence
One morning shattered
It was the first flower
And the first girl
The first kind one
And the first fear
I was flying I was swear
I swear that I was flying
My heart opened the arms
I wasn't a barbarian nomore

And war arrived

And here we are tonight.

Jacques Brel - I do not know

jacques brel - je ne sais pas par bisonravi1987
Original Title: "Je ne sais pas"
Year: 1958

I do not know why the rain
Leaves up there its rags
That are the heavy grey clouds
to lay down on our hillsides

I do not know why the wind
plays in the bright mornings
to peddle the children's laughs
frail chimes of winter

I do not know anything about all this
But I know I still love you

I do not know why the road
That pushes me toward the city
Has the sickly smell of the routs
From poplar tree to poplar tree

I do not know why the veil
Of the frozen fog that escorts me
Makes me think to the Cathedral
Where ones prays for the dead loves

I do not know anything about all this
But I know I still love you

I do not know why those streets
Open in front of me one by one
Virgin and cold, cold and naked
Only my steps and no moon

I do not know why the night
Makes use of me like of a guitar
Forced me to come here
To cry in front of this station

I do not know anything about all this
But I know I still love you

I do not know at what time leaves
That sad train for Amsterdam
That a couple has to take tonight
A couple of which you are the woman

And I do not know for which port
Leaves from Amsterdam that big ship
which shatters my heart and my body
Our love and my future

I do not know anything about all this
But I know I still love you
But I know I still love you

in addition to the translation of the dialogue at the beginning of the video:
- I mostly like writing songs and then I like to sing to some extent because we manage to write songs only when we sing everyday At least in my opinion because we write song with a vocabulary that is not common, not the one of everyone, that is not the one we have outside of writing songs And we manage to know the weight or the value of the words only when singing everyday
- Does it happen to you to be annoyed by a word?
- Yes often
- Do you change it?
- No it's too late
- How so, it's too late?
- well, yes it's too late
- But a song can be corrected
- No, no, songs are like men
- Do you agree to go on the set there, please
Jacques Brel do you like all your songs?
- No, not all of them, oh no
- Your favorite?
- My favorite is "I don't know"

Jacques Brel - It snows over Liège

Original Title: "Il neige sur Liège"
Year: 1963

It's snowing
It's snowing over Liège
And the snow over Liège
To snow puts gloves on

It's snowing
It's snowing over Liège
Black crescent of the Meuse
On the forehead of a white clown

It's broken the shout
of the hours and the birds
of the children with hoops
And of the black and of the grey

It's snowing
It's snowing over Liège
Which the river crosses
Without noise

It's snowing
It's snowing over Liège
And so much turns the snow
Between the sky and Liège

That we do not know anymore
If it's snowing
If it's snowing over Liège
Or if it's Liege that snows towards the sky

And the snow marries
The debutant lovers
The walking lovers
On the whitened Square²

It's snowing
It's snowing over Liège
That the river carries without noise

Tonight
Tonight, it's snowing
Over my dreams and over Liège
That the river pierces without noise

²Le Carré (the Square) is the name of a neighborhood of Liège

Jacques Brel - Tomorrow we are getting married

Original Title: "Demain l'on se marie"
Year: 1958
Female singer for the chorus: Janine de Waleyne

As we get married tomorrow
Let's learn the same song
As life opens tomorrow
Tell me what we will sing

We will force love
To rock our life
Of a pretty song
That we will sing together

We will force love
If you want my beloved
To only be of our life
nothing but the humble smith

As we get married tomorrow
Let's learn the same song
As life opens tomorrow
Tell me what we will see there

We will force our eyes
To see nothing else
but the pretty thing
That lives in every thing

We will force our eyes
To be nothing else but one hope
That we will both offer
Like one offers a rose

As we get married tomorrow
Let's learn the same song
As life opens tomorrow
Tell me again where we will go

We will force the doors
Of the Oriental countries
To open in front of us
In front of our smile

We will force, my beloved
The smile of the people
To be never be again
A joy that sighs

As we get married tomorrow
Let's open the door to those songs
As we get married tomorrow
Let's learn the same song

Jacques Brel - I am a summer evening

Jacques Brel - Je suis un soir d'été
Original Title: "Je suis un soir d'été"
Year: 1968

And the sub-prefecture
Celebrates the sub-prefect's wife
Under the faceted chandelier
Orange squashes are raining
And lukewarm champagnes
And icy remarks
Of glum females
of those who are made employees of the state

I am a summer evening

At the open windows
The diners of the families
Push back their plates
And say that it's hot
The men throw belches
of Teutonic knights
The tablecloths fall into crumbs
over the balconies

I am a summer evening

At the blurred terraces
A few damp drinkers
Talk of nags
And of old perfidious women
It's the time when the suspenders
Hold the present
of the spilled passers-by
And of the alcoholised ones.

I am a summer evening

Heavy lover women
With smell of kitchen
Wander their bosoms
On the sides of the Meuse
They are missing a soldier
For summer to feast
And climbs somehow
To the top of their stockings²

I am a summer evening

At the fountains the old men
bedecked with references
Turn back their childhood
with small rainy steps
They laugh of a whole tooth
To bite into the silence
Around the girls who dance
To the death of a spring

I am a summer evening

Heat is vertebrating
It rivers drunkenness's
Summer has its big masses
And the night celebrates them
The city to the four winds
Twinkles the remorse,
Useless and passing,
Of not being an harbour.

I am a summer evening

²In French "Low" and "Stockings" are said the exact same way (to the top of their lows)

Jacques Brel - The flat land

Original Title: "Le plat pays"
Year: 1962

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

With cathedrals as 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 forgiven
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.

Live version:

Jacques Brel - The port of Amsterdam

The song has already been translated, even sung in English by David Bowie (you can find Bowie's version here) but the lyrics differs for the sake of the song. It's a very powerful song so I am trying to give the most colourful yet literal translation.
Original title: "Amsterdam"
Year: 1964

In the port of Amsterdam
There are sailors who sing
The dreams that haunt them
Off Amsterdam
In the port of Amsterdam
There are sailors who sleep
Like oriflammes along the bleak banks

In the port of Amsterdam
There are the sailors who die
Full of beer and of tragedies
At first lights
In the port of Amsterdam
There are the sailors who are born
In the thick warmth
Of the ocean languors

In the port of Amsterdam
There are sailors who eat,
On too white tablecloths,
Dripping fishes.
They show you teeth
to bite into fortune,
To wane the moon,
To gobble up shrouds.

And it smells of cod
even in the heart of the fries
That their big hands invite
To come back in extra
Then get up while laughing
In a sound of tempest
shut their flies again
And go out while belching

In the port of Amsterdam
There are sailors who dance
While rubbing their paunch
on the paunch of the women
And they turn and they dance
Like spit out suns
In the torn up sound
Of a rancid accordion

They twist round their neck
So they can better hear themselves laugh
Until, all of a sudden, the accordion exhales
Then, with a solemn gesture
Then, with a proud gaze
They bring back their Batavian women
under the bright light

In the port of Amsterdam
There are sailors who drink
And who drink and drink again
And who drink once more
And they drink to the health
Of the whores of Amsterdam
whom there are many moreover
In short, they drink to the ladies
Who give them their pretty body
Who give them their virtue
For a single gold coin
And when they have drunk well
Stick their nose up to the sky
Blow their nose in the stars
And they piss like I cry
On the unfaithful women

In the port of Amsterdam
In the port of Amsterdam

another version:

Jacques Brel - The song of the old lovers

Original Title: "La chanson des vieux amants"
Year: 1967

Of course, there were storms
After twenty years of love, it's crazy love
A thousand times, you packed your bags
A thousand times, I took off
And every piece of furniture remembers,
In this bedroom without a cradle,
The screams of old tempests
Nothing resembled to anything no more
You had lost the taste for water
And me, the one of conquest

But my love
My sweet, my tender, my marvellous love
From the clear dawn until the end of the day
I love you still, you know, I love you

I, I know all your spells
You know all my bewitchments
You kept me from trap to trap
I have lost you time to time
Of course you took a few lovers
The time had well to be spent
The body well has to exult
But finally, finally
It required us quite a lot of talent
To be old without being adult

But my love
My sweet, my tender, my marvellous love
From the clear dawn until the end of the day
I love you still, you know, I love you

And more time makes a procession for us
And more time gives us torment
But isn't it the worst trap
To live in peace for lovers?
Of course you cry a bit less early
I tear myself up a bit later
We protect our mysteries less
We are less confident in luck
We are wary of the current
But it's still the tender war

But my love
My sweet, my tender, my marvellous love
From the clear dawn until the end of the day
I love you still, you know, I love you

Jacques Brel - The Bourgeois

Original Title: "Les Bourgeois"
Year: 1962

The heart well in the warm
The eyes in the beer
At the fat Adrienne from Montalant
With friend Jojo
And with friend Peter*
We were going to drink our twenty years old
Jojo took himself for Voltaire
And Peter for Casanova
And me, I who was the proudest
Me, I took myself for myself
And when around midnight were passing the notaries
who were coming out of the "Three pheasant" Hotel
We showed them our ass and our good manners
By singing to them:

"The bourgeois they are like pigs
Older they get, more they become stupid²
The bourgeois they are like pigs
Older they get, more they become ...

The heart well in the warm
The eyes in the beer
At the fat Adrienne from Montalant
With friend Jojo
And with friend Peter
We were going to burn our twenties
Voltaire was dancing like a curate
And Casanova didn't dare
And me, I who remained the proudest
Me, I was almost as drunk as myself
And when around midnight were passing the notaries
who were coming out of the "Three Pheasant" Hotel
We showed them our ass and our good manners
By singing to them:

"The bourgeois they are like pigs
Older they get, more they become stupid
The bourgeois they are like pigs
Older they get, more they become ...

The heart at rest
The eyes well down to earth
At the bar of the "Three Pheasants" Hotel
With Mister Jojo
And with Master Peter
Between notaries we were passing time
Jojo speaks about Voltaire
And Peter about Casanova
And me, I who had remained the proudest
Me, I still talk about myself
And it's when going out around midnight, Mister the superintendent
That every evening from the Montalant
Young "yobs" are showing us their behinds
While singing to us
"The bourgeois they are like pigs
Older they get, more they become stupid
do they say Mister the superintendent
The bourgeois they are like pigs
Older they get, more they become ..."

*translated Pierre to Peter and L'hôtel "Des trois faisans" to "Three Pheasants" Hotel

²The paragraph should be
"Older they become, dumber they become
The bourgeois they are like pigs
Older they get, ...they become"
I switched the order to a less grammatically correct sentence to show that there was something left hanging in the song
The ... could be replaced by a more offensive word than stupid/idiot. (in French the rhyme suggests "cons")

Jacques Brel - The Fanette

Original Title: "La Fanette"
Year: 1963

We were two friends and Fanette loved me
The beach was deserted and was asleep under july
If they remember it the waves will tell you
How many songs I have sung for the Fanette .

Have to say
Have to say that she was beautiful
Like a water pearl
Have to say that she was beautiful
And I am not beautiful
Have to say
Have to say that she had brown hair
As much as the dune was blond
And helding one and the other
I, I held the world
Have to say
Have to say that I was crazy
To believe in all that
I believed him ours
I believed her mine
Have to say
That we aren't taught
to mistrust everything

We were two friends and Fanette loved me
The beach was deserted and was deceptive under july
If they remember it the waves will tell you
How the song stopped for the Fanette

Have to say
Have to say
While coming out
Of a dying wave
I saw them going away
Like two lovers
Have to say
Have to say that they laughed
When they saw me cry
Have to say that they sung
When I cursed them
Have to say
That it's indeed that day
That they swum so far
That they swum so well
That they haven't been seen again
Have to say
That we aren't taught...
But let's talk about something else

We were two friends and Fanette loved him
The beach is empty and cries under july
And the evening sometimes
When the waves stop
I hear like a voice
I hear... it's the Fanette