Cri Du Coeur

It's not only my voice that sings.
It's the other voice, a crowd of voices,
Voices of today or of the past,
Funny voices, sunny voices,
Desperate, amazed voices,
Heartbreaking and broken voices,
Smiling and frantic voices,
Crazy with pain and joy.

It's the voice of a brand new sorrow,
The voice of love dead or alive,
The voice of a poor fugitive,
The voice of a drowned man who goes splash.
It's the voice of a child being slapped,
It's the voice of a timid bird,
The voice of a sparrow dead from cold
On the pavement of the street of joy...

And always, always, when I sing,
That bird sings with me.
Always, always, still alive,
Its poor voice trembles for me.
If I were to say all that it sings,
All that I've seen and all that I know,
I would say too much and not enough
And all of that, I want to forget.

Other voices sing an old refrain.
It's their memory, it's not mine anymore.
I only have one cry of the heart:
"I don't like unhappiness! I don't like unhappiness!"
And unhappiness returns the favor
But I know it, it doesn't scare me anymore.
It says we're married together.
Even if it's true, I don't believe it.

Without mercy, I crush my tears.
I don't advertise them.
If an alarm were to sound
For particular sorrows,
Trains would never be able to run
And I look at the landscape.
If by chance, it's too ugly,
I wait for it to regain its beauty.

And the customs officers of despair
Can tear open my luggage,
Pat me down and question me,
I never have anything to declare.
Love, like me, goes on a journey.
One day I will meet it.
As soon as I see its face,
I will recognize it immediately...