Le Chevalier de Paris

The great knight of the heart of Paris
Had forgotten the taste of the meadows
He waged war with his friends
In the smoke
In the subways
In the cobblestones
In the bistros
He didn’t know he was drunk
He didn’t know he was standing asleep
Paris held him by the scruff of his neck

Ah! The sweet apple trees
Round and playful tunes
I’m not afraid of wolves
Sang the beauty
They’re not mean
To the children
With faithful hearts
And white knees

Under a sweet apple tree, he found her again
Crossing the sun with the dew
Long live the songs for the Beloved
I remember her with velvet blood
She had hands that spoke of love
And wove clay with the clouds
And pressed the wind against her face
To express the oil of travels

Ah! The sweet apple trees
Round and playful tunes
I’m not afraid of wolves
Sang the beauty
They’re not mean
To the children
With faithful hearts
And white knees

Goodbye my Paris, said the knight
I’ve slept a hundred years, standing without eating
The silver apples of my sweet apple trees
Then the village cried out so loud
That all the girls ran outside
But the knight only greeted her
With velvet blood, with a heart so faithful
The knight will wage war in lace

Ah! The sweet apple trees
Round and playful tunes
I’m not afraid of wolves
Sang the beauty
They’re not mean
To the children
With faithful hearts
And white knees