Il a chanté

He came for the harvest
He was a strong and handsome guy
With soft eyes, and tough lips
While he was harvesting, he sang
And in his voice you could hear
All the voices of nature
He sang of the bright spring
The birds, the shining meadows
The green thickets, the new flowers
In the evening for the gathered folks
He told the song of the wheat
In the false curve of the sheaves

He sang
The harvesters listened to him
And the mistress listened too
He sang
Then he said: "To my health!"
"And tomorrow I’ll hit the road"
When everything was asleep around midnight
As he was about to leave quietly
The master's wife came
All pale and her heart racing
And beautiful with desire still
And under her almost bare cloak
She said: "It’s you I’ve been waiting for
For days, for years
What does a short life matter
Stay with me until dawn…
Sing me the love song
And let me finally live my dream!"

He sang
With her eyes closed, she listened
To his sweet voice that took her whole
He sang
Of love, of death, of pleasure
And together they hit the road

They left the next day
She faced the harsh path
The hunger, the work, the sadness
For her lover quickly grew tired
Without a regret for the past
He caressed other mistresses
Unable to bear the suffering anymore
After nights, days of hell
She said, the poor lover:
"Beloved, don’t have any regrets
Sing me the song of the dead…
And let me go, I’m happy…"

He sang
With her eyes closed, she listened
To the great shiver that burned her whole
He sang
In a sigh, she passed away
And then he took the road again…