Ma chair est tendre [English translation]

In the yard, the neighbour who lives below me

Dribbles a ball, while chatting quietly

On the window, the rain forms crosses

I hurry, and the memory of a day starts up again

When we were normal, spitting at the wall

I return to myself, in front of this side of the lake, which knows nothing of adventure

I feel ill, I've got complexes

I'm oval, I'm convex

I'm dying, I've still got some fight left in me

Fireworks, fire of jubilation

For rent or for sale

My flesh is tender

To my right, the great fire

It's not wrong to have said that to you

To my left, a movement of the crowd

Of debauchery, the beginning of a new world order

Carousel, carnival

A flag of red, white and blue

Until a lava of ???*

Or a liberal witticism

Turn Asia to fire and blood

I feel ill, I've got complexes

I'm oval, I'm convex

I'm dying, I've still got some fight left in me

Fireworks, fire in the loins

For rent or for sale

My flesh is tender

In my soul, an arc of a circle

Where some children of the century catch fire

Under the seat, the train schedule

Light a candle, and fill yourself up

To rent or to sell,

My flesh is tender

• Artist:Benjamin Biolay
• Album:À l'origine