LA TORDUE - Rene Bouteille
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l'heure ô les etoiles tombent
il creuse la sienne
plus pâle qu'une ombre
qui boit de la verveine

il chante il chante
main c'est l'air de la mer
qui bientot le tourmente
et lui vole sa priere (2 fois)

depuis qu'il a vu le jour
il a trimarde sur terre
mais il a pas eu plus d'amour
qu'un sac de pommes de terre

il chante il chante
mais c'est de l'eau amere
qui lui coule ardente
brúlure ses paupieres (2 fois)

ses vieux l'ont pas r'connu
alors il est alle s' fair' voir
par le monde et ses rues
il a mange son pain noir

- on peut pas tout avoir.
ouais mais quand on a rien eu

et nul n'a repondu
quand il voulait savoir
et son cúur s'est fendu
d'essuyer tant de' deboires

il est tombe des nues
il s'est m'me fait trottoir
puis porte disparu
par des gens trop bavards

- chacun vaut son voisin.
sauf quand c'est un vaurien

battant pave et breloque
il a le scorbut l'âme
et son cúur soliloque
sans but le pauvre diable

il a la t't' tordue
essore d'une oreille
c'est pas d'avoir trop bu
c'est d''tre ne bouteille

il chante il chante
il voulait boire la mer
qui sur ses joues serpente
les soirs de trop d'misere (2 fois)

la mer la mer
c'est elle qui le hante
dans son cúur une arriere-
saison d'ecume qui chante

dans l' miroir aux etoiles
dans l'ocean sa planque
d'alouette en cavale
il a jete son ancre

il chante il chante
mais c'est bientot la mer
qui vient couvrir sa plainte
au creux d' sa derniere biere

il chante il chante
son chant de vagabond
c'est maintenant la mer
qui roule sa chanson (2 fois)

LA TORDUE - Rene Bouteille (Rene the Bottle)

At the hour when the stars fall
He digs his own grave
Paler than a shadow
Which drinks verbena

He sings he sings
but it's the sea air
which soon torments him
and steals his prayer (x2)

Since he saw the light of day
he's been roaming the earth
but he hasn't had more love
than a sack of potatoes

He sings he sings
but it's bitter water
which flows ardently from him
and burns his eyelids

His folks didn't recognise him
so he was told to get lost
In the world and its streets
he ate his black bread

- you can't have everything.
yes but when you haven't had anything

And no one answered
when he wanted to know
and his heart split open
from wiping away so many setbacks

He was thunderstruck
He even became a sidewalk
then he was reported missing
by over talkative people

- everyone is worth the same as his neighbour.
except when you're good for nothing

Wandering the streets of his mind
he's got scurvy in his soul
and his heart soliloquises without aim
the poor devil

He's got his head all twisted
Mangled by an ear
It's not about having drunk too much
It's about being born a bottle

He sings he sings
he wanted to drink the sea
which meanders down his cheeks
on the nights of too much misery

The sea the sea
she's the one who haunts him
in his heart there's a back-season
of dross which sings

In the mirror-trap of stars
in the ocean hideaway
Of a lark on the run
he has dropped his anchor

He sings he sings
but soon it's the sea
which comes to smother his plea
in the pits of his final bier

He sings he sings
his vagabond tune
now it's the sea
that rolls his song (x2)