A L'auberge Du Temps Perdu

Over there by the banks of the Oise
In a play of leaves and water
Of fine sand and short grass
Under a sky alive with birds
I see again the little inn
Pink and gray, a bit crooked
The boat pulled up on the shore
And the room filled with tender emotions
And us two, between two ecstasies
All through the beautiful summer days
Cultivating by the Oise
As it should be, idleness

At the Inn of Lost Time
More delicious than a raspberry
How good it was by the Oise
Françoise, the forbidden fruit

Around us, the deep silence
Of the hills and the rustling
Of the water nearby, dancing water
Towards Pontoise or L'Isle-Adam
Remember our divine loves
Our awakenings in the clear morning
When the scents of kitchens
Rose to us, of roasting and thyme
Luxuriance, exuberance
Of gardens, orchards, and woods
And all around us, France
And the steeple of Valmondois

At the Inn of Lost Time
In the room with crimson curtains
Ah, how good it was when I think of it
Hortense, the forbidden fruit

The landlady, a woman from Tours
Treated us like her own kids
The clientele was loyal
A poet, a very old scholar
Lovers always alone in the world
Dining with eyes locked on each other
A fisherman, a blonde lady
Dressed in black, mysterious mourning
Discreet greetings, knowing glances
To welcome our return
From the room where, without pretense,
We talked so much about love

At the Inn of Lost Time
The landlady, not without mischief,
Would serve up a bush of crayfish
Clarisse, the forbidden fruit

Today, the silence is gone
On Sundays towards Valmondois
A thousand steam engines rush
Full throttle, all at once
It's awful, the pickups rage
The noise is king of the ball
And in the evening along the shore
It feels like a real carnival
They changed the old sign
"At the Spoutnik" is its new name
The leather jacket that gives us info
Says "At the Spoutnik, it's awesome!"

Everything gets lost in lost time
Yet, I still keep faithful
The memory that enchants me
Adèle, of the forbidden fruit