Sing, have fun, friend Philibert,
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Here, in Algeria, as if in dreams,
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Dark people are like chimeras
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In bright fezzes and turbans.
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In a smoky tavern you will involuntarily feel sad
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Above the letter of the beloved one.
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Your heart will beat, and you will remember Paris,
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And the melody of the native country:
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On the road, on the road, the day of fun is over, it's time to go on a hike.
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Aim for the chest, little zouave, cheer!
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Believing in miracles for many days, Susanna is waiting.
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She has blue eyes and a scarlet mouth.
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In the dances of hetaerae ringing with their wrists,
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In the heat of swarthy beauty
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You will forget, friend Philibert,
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Everything you remember before.
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You will pay for kisses with wine,
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And, turning pale with passion,
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You won't hear how somewhere outside the window
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The native chant will sound:
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On the way, on the way...
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Dark skin, guttural speech
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They are in a hurry to flash in a dream.
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Fatima's caresses, the sparkle of her eyes
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- And a sudden wave of a knife.
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In the dark basement the dawn is dull and grey,
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Everything is forgotten - pain and anger.
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Friend Philibert hears no more,
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How does the native chant sound:
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On the road, on the road, the day of fun is over, it's time to go on a hike.
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Aim for the chest, little zouave, cheer!
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Believing in miracles for many days, Susanna is waiting.
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She has blue eyes and a scarlet mouth. |