Forum Heroes' Chronicles

One man on a lonely platform
One case sitting by his side
Two eyes staring cold and silent
Show fear as he turns to hide

Un homme dans une gare isolée
Une valise à ses côtés
Deux yeux fixes et froids
Montrent de la peur lorsqu'il se tourne pour se cacher

Sens la pluie comme un été anglais
Entends les notes d'une chanson lointaine
Sortant de derrière un poster
Espérant que la vie ne fût si longue.

Feel the rain like an English summer
Hear the notes from a distant song
Stepping out from a back drop poster
Wishing life wouldn't be so long

When you were here before
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fucking special

une raya de bambins livre aux flammes leurs landeaux
Une ribambelle de nains fout le feu dans l'métro
Une armée de gamins qui brûle les magasins
Trois millions de lycéens carbonisent leurs boquins
Une concierge allumée fout le feu au quartier
Le président fêlé enflamme l'Elysée
Trois secrétaires en chaleur calcinent leur directeur
Une tribu de bonnes soeurs incendie l'Sacré Coeur.

Laï laï laï laï Laï laï laï

----

RAAHHHHH

Les Bérus, bien sûr!

"Vive le Feu"

Toute ma jeunesse!

I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises
All lies and jests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest

When I left my home and my family
I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers
In the quiet of the railway station running scared
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know

Asking only workman's wages
I come looking for a job
But I get no offers
Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there

Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone
Going home
Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me
Bleeding me, going home

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains