La lune est morte
Les Frères Jacques
The moon is dead
Cry Pierrots, poets and black cats,
The Moon is dead, the Moon is dead.
Cry Pierrots, poets and black cats,
The Moon is dead tonight...
A man walks on the ground
Of this old mirror of your dreams
And it's your heart that is pierced.
The rope passed around your neck!
We will have to go further,
Beyond millions of stars
In search of the star
That will make you dream tomorrow...
Cry Pierrots, poets and black cats,
The Moon is dead, the Moon is dead.
Cry Pierrots, poets and black cats,
The Moon is dead tonight...
Like a sunflower,
The Moon has been bottled
And the children of the basket
Applauded as at a puppet show.
A man walks on the ground
Of this old mirror of wonders,
In my garden since yesterday,
The nightingale no longer sings...
Cry Pierrots, poets and black cats,
The Moon is dead,
The Moon is dead.
Cry Pierrots,
poets and black cats,
The Moon is dead tonight...
