| It does not warn when it happens, it comes from afar
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| It walked from bank to bank, the mouth in corner
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| And then one morning, when you wake up, it's almost nothing
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| But it's there, it puts you to sleep in the hollow of the kidneys
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| The pain of living, the pain of living that you have to live well, it's worth living
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| It can be worn as a shoulder strap or as a piece of jewelry
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| Like a buttonhole or just at the tip of the breast
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| It's not necessarily misery, it's not Valmy, it's not Verdun
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| But it's tears in the eyelids in the day that dies, in the day that comes
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| The pain of living, the pain of living that you have to live well, it's worth living
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| Whether we're from Rome or America, whether we're from London or Beijing
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| Whether you're from Egypt or Africa, from the Porte Saint-Martin
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| We all say the same prayer, we all go the same way
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| How long it takes when it has to be done with his pain in the hollow of the kidneys
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| They may want to understand us
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| Those who come to us with their bare hands
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| We don't wanna hear them anymore, we can't, we can't take it anymore
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| And all alone in the silence of an endless night
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| Suddenly we think of those who have not returned
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| The pain of living, their pain of living
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| That you have to live well, it's worth living
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| And without warning, it happens, it comes from afar
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| It went from bank to bank, the laughter in the corner
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| And then one morning, when you wake up, it's almost nothing
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| But it's there, it amazes you, in the hollow of the kidneys
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| The joy of living, the joy of living, must live well, your joy of living |