Translation of the song lyrics Le Bon veuf - Lynda Lemay

Le Bon veuf (original)

La tЄte entre deux tempes grises
Et deux mўchoires bien serr (c)es
Quand mЄme (c)l (c)gant dans sa ch’mise
Un tantinet mal repass (c)e
Parce que le pauvre n’a plus personne
Ni au grenier, ni en cuisine
Pour jouer l’amante et la bonne
D’une main douce et f (c)minine
Il promne sa quarantaine
Avec l’honneur de n'Єtre encore
Qu’un rescap© de cette peine
Que ne peut causer que la mort
Il promne son impuissance
De mari injustement libre
Oblig© d'purger comme sentence
Une perp (c)tuelle absence horrible
Il s’en va la joue presque humide
Et joliment presque ras© D'un pas apparemment solide
Et que l’on suppose (c)branl© Au petit caf© du village
Ou se pressent a le consoler
Des tas d’agr (c)ables visages
Au large sourire d (c)vou© Plus il d (c)balle son histoire
Plus les demoiselles charm (c)es
S’agglutinent, viennent s’asseoir
Auprs du grand d (c)racin© Qui comme g (c)n (c)alogie
Ne semble compter qu’une branche
Celle tomb (c)e, de sa ch (c)rie
De sa d (c)funte, de son ange
Quoi d’plus attrayant qu’un bon veuf
Pour qui une nouvelle vie commence
Qui faute d’avoir un coeur neuf
A l’coeur lav© par le silence
De celle qui dort la bouche close
Avec des secrets plein l’cercueil
Et une douzaine de rouges roses
Qu’il lui a piqu© dans l’orgueil
Avant de fermer le couvercle
Devant la foule d (c)sol (c)e
Qui semblait s'(c)trangler avec
Une sympathie d (c)mesur (c)e
Quoi d’plus s (c)duisant qu’un bon mec
Tout d (c)blanchit de tous soup§ ons
Les ex-(c)poux on les respecte
Surtout en deuil, et en veston
Et c’est la tЄte entre deux planches
Et deux mўchoires bien ciment (c)es
Que la p’tite dame toute blanche
Que l’on a tout endimanch (c)e
Avant d’la mettre dans son trou
Et d’l’ensevelir de cette terre
Dont elle doit la pellet (c)e premire
A son irr (c)prochable (c)poux
Oui c’est la tЄte sous une pierre
Et le dos rong© jusqu' l’os
Qu’elle laisse son bon mari faire
L'(c)loge de leurs si justes noces
Et leur inachev© mariage
Pour lequel mainte villageoises
Postulent le feu au corsage
Et le beau minois en extase
Bien entendu il la louange
Sa belle morte bien aim (c)e
Depuis qu’elle s’est chang (c)e en ange
Et en vitesse, et en fum (c)e
Jamais personne ne saura
Que leur amour battait de l’aile
La morte est sauv (c)e par le ciel
Le veuf est sauv© par le glas

(translation)

The head between two gray temples
And two tight jaws
Still (c)l (c)glove in his shirt
A tad badly ironed (c)e
Because the poor have no one left
Neither in the attic nor in the kitchen
To play the lover and the maid
With a soft and f (c)minine hand
He walks his forties
With the honor of not being yet
That a survivor of this punishment
What can only death cause
He walks his helplessness
Of unjustly free husband
Forced to serve as a sentence
A perp (c) tuelle horrible absence
He leaves with his cheek almost wet
And pretty nearly shaved© With a seemingly solid step
And that one supposes (c)branl© At the small caf© in the village
Or rush to comfort him
Lots of pleasant faces
With the broad smile of (c)vou© The more he d (c)balls his story
More ladies charm(c)es
Clump together, come and sit down
With the grand d (c)racin© Qui comme g (c)n (c)alogie
Only seems to have one branch
The one who falls (c)e, from his ch (c)rie
Of his d (c)funte, of his angel
What's more attractive than a good widower
For whom a new life begins
Who for lack of a new heart
To the heart washed by the silence
Of the one who sleeps with her mouth shut
With secrets full of the coffin
And a dozen red roses
That he stung him in pride
Before closing the lid
In front of the crowd d (c)sol (c)e
Who seemed to strangle with
A sympathy d (c) measure (c) e
What's more s (c)ducing than a good guy
Everything d (c) clears of all suspicions
The ex-(c)lice we respect them
Especially in mourning, and in a jacket
And it's the head between two planks
And two jaws well cement(c)es
Than the all-white little lady
That we have everything Sunday (c)e
Before putting her in her hole
And bury him from this earth
Of which she owes the pellet (c) e first
To his irr (c)proachable (c)lice
Yes it's the head under a stone
And the back gnaws to the bone
Let her good husband do
The (c) lodge of their so just wedding
And their unfinished marriage
For which many villagers
Postulate fire to bodice
And the pretty face in ecstasy
Of course he praises her
His beautiful dead beloved
Ever since she turned into an angel
And in speed, and in smoke (c)e
No one will ever know
That their love was faltering
The dead is saved by heaven
The widower is saved by death