Les Vieux

The old no longer speak
Or only sometimes
From the corner of their eyes

Even if they are rich, they are poor
They have no more illusions
And only one heart for two

At their place, it smells of thyme
Clean
Lavender and the old-fashioned verb

Whether we live in Paris
We all live in the provinces
When we live too long

Is it from laughing too much
That their voices crack
When they talk about yesterday

And from crying too much
That tears still
Glisten in their eyes

And if they tremble a little
Is it from seeing
The silver clock

That purrs in the living room
That says yes, that says no, that says
I'm waiting for you

The old no longer dream
Their books fall asleep
Their pianos are closed

The little cat is dead
The Sunday muscat
No longer makes them sing

The old no longer move
Their gestures have too many wrinkles
Their world is too small

From bed to the window
Then from bed to the armchair and then
From bed to bed

And if they still go out
Arm in arm
Fully dressed and stiff

It's to follow the Sun
The funeral of an older one
The funeral of a uglier one

And for the time of a sob
Forget for a whole hour
The silver clock

That purrs in the living room
That says yes, that says no
And then waits for them

The old do not die
They fall asleep one day
And sleep too long

They hold hands
They are afraid of getting lost
And yet they get lost

And the other one stays there
The better or the worse
The sweet or the severe

It doesn't matter
Whichever of the two remains
Finds themselves in hell

You may see them
You may see them sometimes
In rain and in sorrow

Crossing the present
Already apologizing
For not being further

And fleeing before you
One last time
The silver clock

That purrs in the living room
That says yes, that says no
That tells them: I'm waiting for you

That purrs in the living room
That says yes, that says no
And then waits for us