"Hello my sailor!
I am married now
and I write you from Lyon,
I drink no more,
I smoke real less, you know
'cause I'm pregnant since you've been gone.
My husband says he'll bring him up
like his own son.
He's a banker and he leads me out,
dinner, dancing, whatever I want.
Remember,
"je t'aime, taverne noir",
I see yet the snack booth on your pants.
I'll never forget your sailor mirth,
how you picked up every comb out of the dirt.
His name is Jaques.
He said "that's my mother's ring.
Take it as proof of my love".
And our new flat is on the opera park,
really nice for my little dogs.
Excuse me.
You want to know what's true?
I've no ring
and
there's no man.
I need fivethousand for the abortion.
Please!
Send it fast
as fast as you can!
Remember,
"je t'aime, taverne noir"
I can't find the one for whom I yearn.
You know 'bout your hurting sailor flirts.
Pick me up like every comb you'd found in the dirt.
Remember,
"je t'aime, taverne noir",
I see yet the snack booth on your pants.
I'll never forget your sailor mirth,
how you picked up every comb out of the dirt.
Like his own son
Dancing, dinner, what I want
A ring
and a wedding dress
French whispers
in sweet caress"
(αλήθεια λένε, μερικά τραγούδια είναι σαν να γράφτηκαν για σένα.
τρελά αδικημένη μπάντα αυτή εδώ, αλλά μάλλον το έχω ξαναγράψει.)
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