Le marché aux puces [English translation]

I came across her one day close to the flea market,

Where I used to drop in to find something to dress up.

A gramophone played fake Russian songs

On a roller that creaked like a rusty gate.

She didn’t look anything special, she didn’t stand out,

And yet I followed her, not knowing why.

You hesitate a while, you don’t dare and then you do dare;

A moment of boldness would turn your life upside down.

Porte de Clignancourt1, a cafe under a pouring rain.

She bought some tobacco to roll a cigarette.

Only later I learned that is was her fad.

We all let off steam the way we can.

She didn’t look anything special, she didn’t stand out.

Would you like a drink? A pastis2? Two, then?

Big misdeeds are often a result of small causes.

We had an apéritif, and the meal goes on and on and on...

Since then, sometimes we take the bus

One hundred sixty-six, direction Clignancourt,

To take a walk in that flea market,

Where I regret so much having taken that other walk.

She no longer looks anything special, I don’t stand out.

Habit is our everyday bonding agent.

Our bed is just the place where our bodies can take a rest.

We’re almost happy to leave in the morning.

Our bed is just the place where our bodies can take a rest.

We’re almost happy to leave in the morning,

And our lives have passed according to their metamorphoses.

They weren’t anything special, they didn’t stand out.

1. a station of the Parisian metro in the 18th district2. an anise-flavoured French spirit and apéritif

• Artist:Joe Dassin