Enfants de la Lune

Always the same thought,
I can't wait for tonight, to see you
'Cause you're the only one I trust and who can see me,
My guardian angel, whom I kiss,
Watching over my screw-ups that make me wobble like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
The urge to hold you tight 'cause home is a mess,
It's the parade of lonely kids, born like Corneille.
Barely 13 years old, puffing my first cig,
Scared of growing up next to you, the mother with no arms.
Wants the love, the love of the brothers,
Long live the night, the crazies of this world, goodbye.
'Cause I'm young and I won't toss my backpack
When I see that the night shifts for some brothers aren't worth it.
Life intact, and I'm scared of getting cut,
Despite your moonlight, the Pierrots aren't satisfied.
Please, who am I...
I'm the child of the Moon.

{Chorus:}
[Ana Torroja]:
Moon, do you want to be a mother?
You can't find the love that answers your prayer.
Tell me, silver moon,
You who have no arms, how to rock the child?
Child of the Moon...

[Segnor Alonzo]:
I’m not here to distort reality, nor imitate the living,
I want to resemble my dead, to their truths.
Child of the Moon, orphan when the sun rises,
When the silence makes too much noise, we hear ourselves overthink.
There are no elders left, they died in the drug war
Or while breaking through the dam of freedom.
I don’t need to explain their actions
Or air their dirty laundry in front of the press,
their families didn’t do it.
Moon, outside it’s freezing,
the routine doesn’t take a break,
Understand I have a serious tone
Like the situation of these nights,
you who have no arms, how to hold back the madness of my 22 years?
You know, between a transaction, the sound of a transalp, a joint and cards, a cat chat,
I’m here, my retina trembling.
Reaching forty would be a privilege in this atmosphere.

{to Chorus}

[Soprano]:
Tonight I’m not feeling great, I open a bottle to cope,
Plus it’s pouring, a weather to hang myself.
I’m here, soaked from my cap to my toes,
Realizing my adolescence has aged like fine wine.
I’m assessing, 35 years, not a dime,
some brothers buried or in prison, and my ass sitting on the same bench.
I’m trembling,
because death kills without motive, and it takes cash to feed this little one who looks like me.
I can’t handle what God gives me.
I spend my nights in the bed of a glass of rum.
I have my throne among the cowards,
my crown set with the tears my family sheds,
because I’m a wreck,
I live off my wife and her benefits,
I’m chasing this lost youth in a block,
waiting for you to come get me,
but tonight, hear, they’re coming to get me...

[Ana Torroja]:
Moon, do you want to be a mother?
And you can’t find a love to make you a woman?
Tell me, silver moon,
What do you plan to do with a child of skin?
Child of the Moon.

[Ana Torroja]:
For all the children of the Moon, Ana and the Psychiatrist.
Come little one, come.