Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song John , by - Pierre Rapsat. Release date: 03.12.2014
Song language: French
John(original) |
| Mon père venait du nord |
| Ma mère vient du sud |
| Je suis né dans un pays |
| Grand comme un confetti |
| Les dunes, un soleil rare |
| C’est Marijk, on nous sépare |
| On ne voulait pas que l’on s’aime |
| Le chagrin d’un belge |
| De la Venise du nord |
| Aux corons du sud |
| J’ai aimé bien des gens |
| Leurs différences leurs accents |
| Mais Marijk dans ce pays |
| En Flandre, en Wallonie |
| Certains, n’aiment pas que l’on s’aime |
| Le chagrin d’un belge |
| Quelques juges à Bruxelles |
| L'épée pointée vers le ciel |
| Se prennent pour Saint Michel |
| Ont-ils baissé les yeux? |
| Savent-ils qu’au pied de l’archange |
| Le monde change |
| La marée avance |
| Des fois j’pense à mon vieux |
| Qu’il soit plus là c’est mieux |
| Il aurait trouvé la bière |
| Trop sombre, trop amère |
| Comme ces uniformes noirs |
| Qui hantaient sa mémoire |
| Ceux qui, n’voulaient pas qu’on se tiennent |
| Mais un dimanche… |
| Le chagrin des belges est si fort |
| Qu’alors, du sud au nord |
| Tout un peuple se rassemble |
| Pour pleurer, renaître, ensemble |
| N’y a-t-il que la douleur |
| Qui puisse unir nos coeurs |
| Fallait-il que l’on s’aime |
| (translation) |
| My father was from the north |
| My mother is from the south |
| I was born in a country |
| Big as confetti |
| The dunes, a rare sun |
| It's Marijk, we're being separated |
| We didn't want to love each other |
| The Sorrow of a Belgian |
| From Northern Venice |
| To the southern settlements |
| I liked many people |
| Their differences their accents |
| But Marijk in this country |
| In Flanders, in Wallonia |
| Some don't like that we love each other |
| The Sorrow of a Belgian |
| Some judges in Brussels |
| Sword pointing to the sky |
| Take themselves for Saint Michael |
| Did they look down? |
| Do they know that at the foot of the archangel |
| The world changes |
| The tide is coming |
| Sometimes I think of my old man |
| That he is no longer there is better |
| He would have found the beer |
| Too dark, too bitter |
| Like those black uniforms |
| that haunted his memory |
| Those who didn't want us to hold each other |
| But on a Sunday... |
| Belgian grief is so strong |
| That then, from south to north |
| A whole people gather |
| To cry, to be reborn, together |
| Is there only pain |
| Who can unite our hearts |
| Did we have to love each other |