Carte postale [English translation]

Switched on, the television sets

Locked, the doors of conversation

Forgotten, the games of draughts and cards

Asleep, the farms when the young folk leave

Broken, the lights of the street parties

Cold, the mulled wine, the dishes

Quick-tempered, the words of the friendly waitresses

Disappeared, the dogs playing under the table

Torn-up, the wedding napkins

Forgotten, the kids’ bedtime stories

Stopped, the swaying of the last dancers’ petticoats

And the out of tune notes of the accordion

It’s a hamlet lost under the stars

With old curtains hanging at dirty windows

And on the old sideboard under the grey dust

A postcard is left

Tarmacked, the stones of the peaceful lanes

Ripped up, the grass of the fragile places

Deserted, the stall of the beautiful market girls

Dried up, the splashes of water from the fountains

Forgotten, the sacred words of the grandfathers

At the hearths of the great stone chimneys

Flown away, the laughter of the harvest nights

And switched on, the television sets

It’s a hamlet lost under the stars

With old curtains hanging at dirty windows

And on the old sideboard under the grey dust

A postcard is left

Flown away, the dresses of the promised beauties

The crickets’ wings, the baskets of cherries

Forgotten, the laughter of the harvest nights

And switched on, the television sets

• Artist:Francis Cabrel
• Album:Carte postale