Loterie [English translation]

From my window I see the pupils from the Rodin highschool1

coming out from class with screams of joy.

Boys show off, they look full of sap,

and girls leggings tighten their legs

and their butt, still firm.

I would have liked to know public highschool.

Learn life at the right moment.

Feel easy, a bit ballsy and cheeky, reach puberty on schedule.

Snatch stuff from a supermarket, loose my virginity2 early.

Take hits and give some back without backing down.

But that wasn't it, no, far from it.

Me, I was the kind hugging the walls,

not making waves, sort of a ***3

A nice petty collabo'4 with a stick up its arse, and a wimp like no-one,

who does everything right as he is told,

who gets up early, and works when he's due to.

My parents didn't forced me, I did it on my own, like a grown-up.

Then I persisted for years.

Inevitably it ended up backfiring.

I try to make do since, I try to lead the furrow astray.

This won't go easy, no it won't.

Fortunaltely, I'm not alone to stifle the voice that keeps telling me :

"You'll be weak and helpless,

accepting, submissive, depressing,

insufficient, inadequate, viewer in the ditch.

You'll be alone, divorced, without kids, remarried,

wino, adulterous, unworthy son, terrible brother.

You'll be bitter, too strict,

sad and always angry,

despicable, unbearable, selfish, insufferable.

You'll be what you're told, don't argue.

Down there, that's how it is.

You fill the game, you shithead ?

That's roulette, you don't get to choose."

Oh yeah you think so?

Well listen, I don't know about you, but me, it will be

head high, one fist on the table

and the other upwards, trust me.

Before I end up six feet under, I will have lived everything that's to live,

I will have done everything that I can do,

Given a go at everything there is to give a go.

And above all, I will have loved.

From my window I see people leaving for work.

Some cut a fine figure with their good-looking coat

and their good-looking shoes,

others looks like they're severely picking up.

All those men and women that will one more time

Dish up the soup to the others.

My white trash consciousness catches me up right away.

"See? you should stop complaining."

However, I don't know.

Is it us that became faggots?

Is it the world that goes south?

Sometimes I tell myself, we're so used to the taste of guilt

that we became unable to see through.

For example, me, for a long time, I attempted

to fit into a box,

to have a normal life, without hitch, without risk, without drama.

Having a normal job, a normal pay,

normal feelings, a normal wife, a normal death, etc. etc.

But I couldn't, it was too much for me,

I wasn't tough enough.

Then instead, I looked for a trick to live with dignity

And today I make sacrifices trying to help my own kind

the right way, to behave

according to noble ends.5

And one day finally rule against that voice that keeps telling me:

"You'll be dominant or drowned,

crusher or crushed,

carnivorous or expendable,

winner or non-significant data.

You'll be fellow to your fellows,

like everyone or degradable,

smarter or asshole,

torturer or corrupted.

You'll be beaten and silent,

otherwise cruel but victorious,

thorough or useless,

fierce or pointless detail.

You'll be what you're told, don't argue.

Down there, that's how it is.

You fill the game, you shithead ?

That's roulette, you don't get to choose."

Oh yeah you think so?

Well listen, I don't know about you, but me, it will be

head high, one fist on the table

and the other upwards, trust me.

Before I end up six feet under,

I will have lived everything that's to live,

I will have done everything that I can do,

Given a go at everything there is to give a go.

And above all, above all I will have loved.

From my window I see some of the enclosure of the hospital.

If I stretch a bit my head out

I can maybe get to see the appointments ward.

I think back to those times I was told:

"You're too sensitive,

but it's ok, don't pull a face,

right, OK, maybe this won't be christmas everyday"

And the head-doctor keeps telling me it's like that,

that I have to accept it,

that it's like diabetes, that you have to make do.

So I try, every day that God makes.

I haven't said my final word, don't worry.

Nothing was written, nothing written

And fuck the voice that says:

"You'll be schizo, bipolar, too fragile, suicidal,

tyrannical, incurable, repulsive,

unlookable.

You will be a sadistic, narcissistic, voyeur, pervert,

egocentric, destructive,

depressive, obsessional, compulsive.

You will be damned, convicted,

lying on the pavement,

skewed, poorly wanked,

knocked down, three times cast-off.

You'll be what you're told, don't argue.

Down there, that's how it is.

You fill the game, you shithead ?

That's roulette, you don't get to choose."

Oh yeah you think so?

Well listen, I don't know about you, but me, it will be

head high, balls on the table,6

the fist upwards, trust me.

Before I end up six feet under,

I will have lived everything that's to live,

I will have done everything that I can do,

Given a go at everything there is to give a go.

And above all, I will have been loved.

1. 13th district, Paris, France2. Should be slang (for boys)3. Unable to translate, transcription may be flawed4. During WWII, a French that helped the Nazis was called a "Collabo", short for Collaborator5. Error in transcript, should be : "pour essayer d'aider les miens de la bonne façon, d'agir selon des nobles fins."6. Error in transcript, should be : "les couilles sur la table."

• Artist:Fauve ≠
• Album:Vieux frères – Partie 1 (2014)