Mauvais Sang

Don't call me a bigot
Don't call me a bigot
Don't call me a bigot
Don't call me a bigot
Don't call me a bigot

I know the color of days filled with bad blood
And the sweet pain of Anouk who's a hundred years old
The creaking of your bones, the scent of your charms
The vertebrae in your back, your past too heavy
I know the dust that fills your head
When even the light can't reach your soul
The mood of your speeches when night falls
And your court of imaginary friends goes on sale
I know the distance that separates us
From each other, since after, know it will be too late

Don't call me a bigot
Don't call me a bigot
Don't call me a bigot

The time you give me is too low for the ceiling
It sows discord, devours passion
Leftover friendship, you still have to offer me
To share our tears and our smiles
And my madness for you, celebrated with others
Since you don't want it, dressed up forever

Don't call me a bigot
Don't call me a bigot
Don't call me a bigot
Don't call me a bigot

I know the color of days filled with bad blood
And the sweet pain of Anouk who's a hundred years old
I know the dust that fills your head
When even the light can't reach your soul
I know the distance that separates us
From each other, since after, know it will be too late
And my madness for you, celebrated with others
Since you don't want it, dressed up forever

Don't call me a bigot
Don't call me a bigot
Don't call me a bigot
Don't call me a bigot
Don't call me a bigot