Les vitrines

Cadillacs and parasols
Albuplast and suspenders
Fake dollars, real jewels
There's really something for everyone, right?!
Ha ha ha!

Prayers for toothpaste
Well-fed dogs that speak English
And the whores? Just practicing
With their eyes making a scene

Fake paintings that look sour
And then the real ones that hold a grudge
Some chords that are off-key
That blow a little before they scream

Girls in bloom, fresh flowers
Illustrations of children
And kids posing pretty
In front of rich guys

The showcases on the avenue
Make a racket in the hearts
To lift up happiness
In case it grows in the streets!

The fake ads we display
And that are dying of boredom
The stars of the tabloids
"Words" by Jacques Prévert

The Goncourt prizes we brag about
The warm throats for the voice
The wire cutters and the bras
With the instruction manual

The dead songs in wax
And the turntables to translate them
Microsillon baying at the crows
It's all Mozart in a bottle

The blood that flows full of pain
And that freezes at crossed words
"France-Soir, Le Monde, and Fortune!"
In front of guys who haven't eaten
The showcases on the avenue
Make a racket all around
To lift up love
In case we could sell it for surplus!

The fake Santa Clauses
Who only come down for the parents
While the kids play the understudies
Waiting to turn twenty

Spinning tops that turn on a dime
Melting candies, daily joys
And those moms with their arms full
Staring at the showcase like...

Tin soldiers that stand at attention
Dolls that do the dishes
Funny birds in balance
To entertain the little ones

Inside, the sale is free
For those bored with life
Wonders we can't touch
In front of guys who can come in

The showcases on the avenue
Make a racket in the eyes
Blinding all the beggars
In case they've seen too much!

York ham, guaranteed Villette
Alcohols with a label
Crushing the toughest ones
Where I’m told, the hair gets tired

The girdle that melts under caresses
The laughing underwear, the stockings that hold
The high heels that wear out the pavement
The perfumes that smell like... shit

Frills for the countess
Silk bands so they don’t weaken
Chinchilla, canvas too
We need to see those who are naked

Sweaters so real they bite
Wines so old they flow like fools
Durations that excel
In front of guys who don’t want any

The showcases on the avenue
It's my pockets when I rummage
And dig through lost treasures
Rags of dreams that linger.