La Mére a Titi

On the living room table
Shining like a shoe
There's a pretty tablecloth
And an oyster ashtray

There are plastic fruits
Really well imitated
In a crystal bowl
Really well chipped

On the wall, in the entrance
There are chamois horns
To hang the keys
To the cellar we don't go to

African statues
Rub elbows on the shelf
With little glass critters
Venetian crap

It's tiny at Titi's mom's
It's a bit of Italy
It's happiness, misery, and boredom
It's death, it's life

There's a beautiful bullfight
On an ugly fan
Laid on top of the sofa
Like a scarecrow

On the black lace
There's the death of a bull
Who struggles to believe
He's no longer under Franco

There's a poor Virgin Mary
Feet in the water
Covered in snow
When you jiggle her

The stupid barometer
In the anchor of the navy
And the photo of the dog
Taken from a magazine

It's tiny at Titi's mom's
But it has everything I tell you
That woman, if you don't know her
You wouldn't believe it, you wouldn't believe it

On the TV that reigns
One day, I saw a book
I think it was The Great Meaulnes
Near the copper pot

In the wicker magazine rack
You can guess
There's Us Two, the Figaro
The Redoute catalog

And at the end of the hallway
There's my buddy's room
Where his guitars live
His jacket and his boots

His comic book collection
And in the middle of the mess
The butt of a joint
And an old New Look

It's tiny at Titi's mom's
Titi doesn't care
He says his life is tiny too
And at his place, it's everywhere

When he talks about leaving
His mom tells him he's crazy
That he's not even married
That his girls are sluts

And if he were to leave
No way he'd come back
With his dirty laundry to wash
At the end of each week

So he stays there
Suffocated but loved
Takes care of the cats a bit
While waiting to work

He wants to be a singer
His mom believes in him
Since he has a beautiful voice
Like his dad did

It's tiny at Titi's mom's
It's a bit of Italy
It's happiness, misery, and boredom
It's death, it's life