Damien Saez - Les Enfants Paradis Лирицс транслатион то енглисх

Children of Paradise

They were smiles, they were sobs
They were those laughs that make the songs of birds
They were mornings when we go to the seashore
They were the heart of sadness, they were the heart of light
They were poems, they were birds
They were the «I love you»'s that we say on the bank of the creek
They were from the café, they were from the pub
they were foreigners, they were without flags
 
They were from Paris, they were from the provinces
They were the hearts of rain who make hearts that squeal
They were full of life, they had the eye of Spring
They were the hearts that laugh when heaven is crying
They were promises, they were becoming
They were much too young, yes, to have to depart
They were the sons of the East or sons of the West
Children of paradise, children of the Bataclan
 
They were French hearts, or international hearts
They were the dew that cries from under the shawl
They were promises, they were buds
Who make sadness grow, they were songs
They were families, they were friends,
They were what shines in the night sky
They were lovers, those who were huddled together
One against the other, against tyranny
 
They were like me, they were like you
They were not warriors, but they died in combat
They were hearts of love, they were hearts that fight
And who will always fight even beneath the cross
They were these friends who I did not know
They were my country and yours too I believe
They will stay Paris, Paris will always remember
These friends, the light will shine
 
They were called 'I love you', they were called youth
They were called poem, they were called tenderness
They were called sister, they were called brother
They were called little girl, they were called little boy
They were called joy and nonviolence
They were called, I believe, the children of France
Of all horizons and of all names
They were called love and horizon
 
They called Jacques Brel and I think Barbara
They were called heaven, they were called 'why'
Forever sleeps here the horror of the hollows
He who joins the eternal, goes innocent, I believe
They were lifted fists, tjey were our concerts
They were tightened hearts, yes, in the face of the torturers
They were the hearts of carnations, flowers in the face of shootings
In our grieving hearts, we cry for our friends
 
To the innocent who is killed, yes, fallen under the bullets
To the unknown soldier under the horror of gunfire
If these are the dead letters, the hymns of sorrow
Because knocking at the door are the plains of Verdun
If fallen tonight, on this black Friday,
The brothers of my country, leaving us desperate
My country, your culture is dead, assassinated
But you know my culture will never die
 
You my country of Molière, you my country of Vinci
You my country of Voltaire, you my country of Valmy
You my country the Earth, you my country Paris
You my country on the ground, stand up my country
You my country of light, you my country of life
My literary country, my country of sad life
You my country, my brothers, you brother of my country
As we cherish our mothers, we cherish our fatherland.
 


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