Quarante ans

Forty years, forty years, but it's the end of the world!
I told myself that, it was just yesterday,
And now today it's a matter of seconds.
Forty years, not already. Otherwise, what's the point
Of having been eighteen, cherries in the ear
And flowers in the hair, having hoped for everything?
Love alone was a marvel,
And then time passed, of which I kept nothing.

Forty years, forty years, it's almost ridiculous.
I haven't done anything at all, just a few mistakes.
The innocent I was, I see him retreating.
He can go away, I know him by heart,
I've known him for forty years,
Front and profile, in black and in color,
And his guardian angels, and his damned souls,
I know what enchants him and what scares him.

Forty years, forty years, no, it's not possible,
Not today, tomorrow, a week or two.
Yesterday I was still called a terrible child!
How could I already be old?
Forty years, yes, already. It's a lot for my age.
Poor little young man, with gray hair,
A bit morose, becoming wise,
Having done very little and understood nothing.

[Continuation of the original text, not sung by Jean-Claude Pascal]
After forty years, youth begins,
I will repeat these words every day,
I will stroll in full adolescence,
Lose my illusions, reinvent love.
Forty years, forty years, it's the age of happiness,
For the man I am, it's the age of victories,
And I have everything I need to be a beautiful winner,
But... already forty years, I dare not believe it.