The Barbarians lived in the sharp corners
Of cities exiled far from business
They riveted their jackets with strange firmaments
Where madness, death, and youth shone
At night, the blast furnace simmered its dollars
The smoke streamed over our rusted helmets
In the grubby locker room, five minutes stolen
From the smoke, the fire, the noise, the despair

Oh, my love, take me away
Take me far from the zone
To sorrowful countries, to easy countries
To docile countries

They dreamed of tropics, tropical tropics
Full of thirty-degree water, full of bloody forests
They dreamed of coral, love, hot sand
Epinal foisted its departing images on them
The boss's son came to visit us
Coming out of the nightclub with pretty women
He watched us work, tried to estimate
The rise of the curve, the heat of the flame

Oh, my love, take me away
Take me far from the zone
To sorrowful countries, to easy countries
To docile countries (docile)

Bourgeois adolescents with worker myths
Dedicated activists of this moving dream
Who would one day be left-wing or well-arranged (well-arranged, yeah)
Tricolor and calm, the zone, it was red
The darkness of the jackets made our summers
Dark as the flowers of our acrylic trees
We unrolled our chains, trying to catch
The rise of love, peace, music

When the bus swallowed its six-hour ration
Of burned hands, silicosis, and heavy red
We returned emptied to our kitchens, alone
A smile, a coffee, the shower, nothing changes
The radio was whoring on the lower floor
We slept in the enzyme and in the crossroads
Then our heads plunged towards better worlds
Our busy mothers saw the day decline

Oh, my love, take me away
Take me far from the zone
To sorrowful countries, to easy countries
To docile countries

The Barbarians lived in the sharp corners
Of cities exiled far from business
They riveted their jackets with strange firmaments
Where madness, death, and youth shone

Oh, my love, take me away
Take me far from the zone
To sorrowful countries, to easy countries
To docile countries (docile)

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