Ouh ouh ouh
Ouh ouh ouh

If we had to describe sorrow
We would say it's nothing
It's not defeat, the sorrow
It's not fate
It's warm, it's a heavy heart
It burns in a corner
It's childhood falling from our hands

When we will be a hundred years old
The slightest sorrow will be a caress to us
Still burning
Still tangled with some youth
And salty like the wind

Ouh ouh ouh
Ouh ouh ouh
Ouh ouh ouh

If we had to describe sorrow
We would say it was good
It's not the shipwreck, the sorrow
It's the shower on the way
It's soft on our knees
It digs into our loins
It wakes us up in tears in the mornings

But when we will be a hundred years old
The slightest sorrow will make us tender
Still trembling
Still enchanted by some youth
Like an old sob

I go, I come
As if nothing
Without you, however
Lost on the way
Of us there is nothing left
Nothing but a funny sorrow

But when we will be a hundred years old
The slightest sorrow will be a caress to us
Still burning
Still tangled with some youth
We will be a hundred years old
The slightest sorrow will make us tender
Still trembling
Still enchanted by some youth
Like an old sob

Ouh ouh ouh

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