Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Le Clandestin, artist - La Rue Kétanou. Album song En attendant les caravanes..., in the genre Эстрада
Date of issue: 10.06.2012
Record label: LRK
Song language: French
Le Clandestin(original) |
Il vagabonde et s’enveloppe |
Dans les lumires de la ville |
Des vitrines, des bars, des sex shops |
Sans papiers, il se faufile |
Il s’enlise dans un bain de foule |
Cachette mouvante qui lui fait peur |
Parfois il perd pied et il coule |
Dans la folie des profondeurs |
Il s’enfonce dans une langue bizarre |
Qui bourdonne et fourmille de voix |
Il se cogne contre des regards |
Il est tellement maladroit |
Prudemment, il planque son nom |
Il ne veut pas le gaspiller |
Il n’utilise plus qu’un surnom |
Deux ou trois fausses identits |
Clandestinement dans Paris |
Il regonfle tout son courage |
Il sait le secret crit |
Entre les lignes de son visage |
Discrtement sans faire de bruit |
Il cherche quelque chose manger |
Un abri o passer la nuit |
Un robinet pour se laver |
Il s’inquite devant ces ivrognes |
Qui couchent dans les grottes de la rue |
Eux, ils n’ont plus de langue, ils grognent |
Ils perdent la tte et ils puent |
Il s’inquite devant cet hiver |
Le gel et les flocons de neige |
Et puis devant un autre hiver |
Devant d’autres flocons de neige |
Il s’inquite devant la police |
Qui contrle les gens de sa race |
Il se souvient de la milice |
Et il regarde ses godasses |
Il se dit que a va bien |
Qu’il s’est chapp de la guerre |
Puis il glisse au fond de ses mains |
Une larme, une prire |
(translation) |
It wanders and wraps itself |
In the city lights |
Shop windows, bars, sex shops |
Without papers, he sneaks |
He gets bogged down in a crowd |
Moving hiding place that scares him |
Sometimes he loses his footing and he sinks |
In the madness of the depths |
He sinks into a weird language |
Who hums and swarms with voices |
He bumps into stares |
He's so clumsy |
Carefully, he hides his name |
He doesn't want to waste it |
He only uses a nickname |
Two or three false identities |
Clandestinement in Paris |
He pumps up all his courage |
He knows the secret crit |
Between the lines of her face |
Discreetly without making noise |
He's looking for something to eat |
A shelter to spend the night |
A faucet for washing |
He worries about these drunks |
Who sleep in the caves of the street |
Them, they don't have a tongue anymore, they growl |
They lose their minds and they stink |
He worries about this winter |
Frost and snowflakes |
And then before another winter |
In front of other snowflakes |
He asks the police |
Who controls people of his race |
He remembers the militia |
And he looks at his shoes |
He says he's fine |
That he escaped from the war |
Then it slips deep in her hands |
A tear, a prayer |