She doesn't smile the city and especially not to strangers
I walk and I exile myself in the city, uprooted

Far too free to be able to serve it
But far too chained, to run away

And I seek, but what am I look for ?
Someone who would help me well, who would stretch out a hand, a pole
And I'm dragging, bad seed, tons of disappointed hope
From porters having received a lot of hate

I walk in the city at a time when the neon lights are on light
up I melt into the night between hammer and anvil
And now my fear disguises itself as arrogance
I feel that on edge my pain is becoming violence

Far too proud to be able to lower my eyes
I defy gazes, as if in play

And I'm looking, yes I'm looking for them
Those who in the back of their eyes have flashes of fire
Yes I'm looking for them, and I'm dragging, bad seed, my desire to exist
Even if it means wanting to break everything, bad seed Bad seed

I walk in the city ​​and the city believes itself to be in danger
In indelible ink on my skin one can read: Stranger!

And I seek, but what am I seeking?
Someone who would help me, who would stretch out a hand, a pole
And I drag, bad seed, my desire to exist
Even if it means wanting to break everything, bad seed

And I'm looking, but what am I looking for?

▲ Fold ▲

I suffered from my negritude,
She also from her loneliness,
And we consoled ourselves.

We had to love each other more,
More welded by seeing faces,
Which were only suppressed hatreds.
Disparaging reflections,
For me the negro, and his lover,
How humiliated we were!

"How vicious and vicious this bitch is,
To mate with this race,
Poor uprooted types."

My God that true and noble feelings
Are misunderstood, ignoble world,
How much we had to pay.

So many tears and suffering,
For my very short stay in France,
On the benches of the faculty.

Tired of reproaches and sarcasm,
We came up with the whimsical idea,
In my country, to return.

The reception at my place? Not better,
It was she who was colored,
She was rejected by all.

We held on...two years,
Assuming that in time,
tranquility would return.

It was counting without the madness,
Which is born suddenly in countries,
Because the coup d'etat has struck.

And when the days of rioting came,
This black people, like a pack,
Slaughtered us both.
The crime ? It was misalliance,
Breaking the law, what insolence!
For this we were condemned.

Anomaly, shame of the village
I still see the face,
And the martyrdom of my beloved.

That poor pathetic gaze,
Crushed with big cudgels,
And the vociferous cries.

I was black, she was white,
We met on a Sunday,
But I'm talking to you in the past tense.

We were covered with earth,
For it is to God...of all...The Father,
That our souls have gone.

There, among fields and flowers,
In beauty and happiness,
His angels comforted us.

In heaven, no difference
Race, skin, Africa, France,
It is for all of us, equality.

Is it necessary to die for people to understand,
Men nourished by so much hatred,
That the only noble act is to love?

Why notice on earth,
What fratricidal struggles and misery,
For lives so often cut short?

Our souls are at peace in this place,
By the mercy of God,
United in eternity.

I was black, she was white,
We met on a Sunday,
And our ordeals are over.
▲ Fold ▲