Que Reste-t-il de Nos Amours?

What remains of our loves?
What remains of those beautiful days?
A photo, old photo of my youth

What remains of the sweet notes
Of April, of the rendezvous?
A memory that constantly haunts me

Faded joys, hair in the wind
Stolen kisses, moving dreams
What remains of all that?
Tell me

A small village, an old steeple
A landscape so well hidden
And in a cloud, the dear face
Of my past