Autobiographie [English translation]

I've opened my eyes to a sad piece of furniture...

Rue Monsieur Le Prince in the Quartier Latin

In a world of singers and artists...

What had a past, but no future

Wonderful people and a little eccentric

Who spoke Russian and Armenian...

If my father was an operetta singer...

Blessed with a voice I still envy...

My mother held the maid's job

And their troop wasn't rolling on gold...

But my sister and I had a field day

Huddled in a corner behind a set

All these actors who had dependants

But whose French was hesitant

Had to accept to make a living

The first job that was vacant

Driving a taxi or pulling the needle

That could be done with an accent

After work on weekdays

These frustrated actors rehearsed for a long

Just for fun one eve a fortnight

To give themselves oblivion about money troubles...

And die of stage fright when coming on stage.

In front of an audience made of emigrants

When the month ends were tough

When it was cold and the bread was missing...

We often went shameful and feverish

At the Mont de piété, where they used to pledge

An old samovar, trivial things...

Objects from the past that we were fond of

We talked about those who died near the Bosporus...

Drank to life, drank to friends...

The women cryied, and until dawn...

The men sang some old refrains

Who came from afar, from the depths of folklore...

Where lived death and love and wine...

We always had friends at table

What little we had we did share.

My parents said, "It had to be hell...

If tomorrow heaven wouldn't reward us."

This was not a charitable gesture:

They loved others, and God was helping us...

While in front of frying pans and saucepans

My father was looking for his position

Day and night under a parafine lamp

My mother used to embroider for a great fashion house

What about us before we went to school?

We did clean up and shopping

So I grew up without restraint.

Getting drunk at night, working by day...

My life has known various fortunes

I almost died, I found love...

I've had children who've seen me more than once...

remember with a heavy heart

La la di la la la...

Rue Monsieur Le Prince in the Quartier Latin

In a world of singers and artists...

What had a past, but no future

Wonderful people and a little eccentric

Who spoke Russian and Armenian...

• Artist:Charles Aznavour