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Mireille Mathieu - Un dernier mot d'amour перевод текстов на английский

художник: 

A last loving word

Versions: #2
Maybe what I'm writing
is much more than a letter,
rather a message
following a shipwreck.
 
In the great silence
I'm calling for help,
and so I utter
a last loving word.
 
You, the impossible1 child,
the impossible dream,
my reason for being,
my love madness
 
You, through whom I exist
You, the only artist
who could make
my sad Pierrot heart dance
 
Maybe you'll laugh
as you read my letter,
this cry of distress
written by my tenderness.
 
I don't care, I love you,
and that's quite enough
to send you anyway
a last loving word.
 
You, the inscrutable
You, the irreplaceable,
more handsome than the Devil,
more distant than God
 
You, my bleeding wound2
You, without whom
the joy in my eyes and the fire in my veins
go out3
 
Maybe you'll laugh
as you read my letter,
this cry of distress
written by my tenderness.
 
I don't care, I love you,
and that's quite enough
to send you anyway
a last loving word.
 
  • 1. I've added the pun, hopefully it will compensate for the nice French I couldn't render.
    A more literal translation would be 'tearaway' or the French 'enfant terrible'
  • 2. lit. 'you through which I bleed'
  • 3. sorry about the awkward formatting, but I can't see how to move this 'go out' in front
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You can reuse it as you please.
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Больше текстов песен

Story

I haven't been too honest up until now
Like I never told you how much you meant to me
I never managed to put my feelings into written words
The day you showed up, I was reborn
 
And even if time flies by out there
I swear I'll be the only one to never abandon you
And even if the wind sweeps you away now
You'll always be the end and beginning of my story
 
Of my story
Of my story
You'll always be the end and beginning of my story
Of my story
Of my story
You'll always be the end and beginning of my story
 
I've never been as close as I am now
To the fulfillment of see you happy
And I know that I never thanked you
For being what I never was for you
 
And even if time flies by out there
I swear I'll be the only one to never abandon you
And even if the wind were sweeps you away now
You'll always be the end and beginning of my story
 
Of my story
Of my story
You'll always be the end and beginning of my story
Of my story
Of my story
You'll always be the end and beginning of my story
 

Крутые Кроссовки

У Роберта ловкие руки:
Он окинет взглядом комнату,
Но не расскажет тебе свой замысел.
Самокрутка свисает у него изо рта,
Он - ковбойский отпрыск,
И он нашёл шестизарядный револьвер
В чулане своего папаши в коробке с забавными штучками.
Я даже не знаю зачем,
Но он придёт за тобой, он придёт за тобой.
 
[ Припев: ] (x2)
Все остальные детки в крутых кроссовках:
Вам бы лучше валить отсюда, валить отсюда, [чтобы] опередить мой пистолет.
Все остальные детки в крутых кроссовках:
Вам бы лучше валить отсюда, валить отсюда быстрее чем моя пуля.
 
Папаша работает целый день
Он придёт домой поздно, да, он придёт домой поздно
И принесёт мне сюрприз,
Потому что ужин уже на кухне и упакован в лёд.
Я долго поджидал [его],
Да, и ловкость моих рук - теперь это быстрый спуск курка.
Я рассуждаю со своей самокруткой
И говорю: 'У тебя волосы в огне,
Должно быть ты сошла с ума,' вот так.
 
[ Припев ] (x5)
 
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Bringing joy of Russian music and poetry to the world.
When sharing, please thank & credit: (c) St. Sol @ LT.
Align paragraphs

I Forget Myself

I forget myself, darling, I forget my name
Darling, I forget when I am with you
And I find myself, darling, with you
And I want to continue living my the rest of my life with you
 
From tonight my heart is yours, from tonight my soul is in you
From tonight I will see, my darling, life with your eyes
X2
 
I forget myself, darling, I forget my name
Darling, I forget when I am with you
And I find myself, darling, with you
And I want to continue living my the rest of my life with you
X3
 
I forget myself
 

What do I laugh at?

What do I laugh at? . . . I laugh for hours and hours
only to forget, only not to feel.
I laugh when I see the sea, the nights and the dawns;
I pass the feverish life disturbingly laughing.
 
I laugh because I have fear, a vague terror
of feeling lonely and of interrogating myself;
I laugh to not hear the voice of the portentous sea
nor the voice of mute things crying.
 
I laugh to not hear the voice that screams within me
the mystery of everything that surrounds me
and the suffering of not knowing why I live this way.