Hello doctor
I'm coming to see you because, I've never really talked about it but
But I have weird noises in my head
Well, in my head, in, in my ears, you know
It's been a long time, actually, this
It happens all of a sudden, and then it comes back quite regularly
And then it's noises, well
Like things I already know
And, so, it's very strange, everything gets a bit mixed up, it's
I don't know how to say, I hear like

For example, I hear Brassens on a vinyl, "Song for the Auvergnat"
I hear my grandmother's accent when she sang "Ramona"
I hear the voices of my parents, of those who reassure
I hear my pen on a paper, and the first erasures
I hear Maguy on TV signaling the end of the weekend
I hear my mother, to lull me, who comes to sing "Göttingen"
I hear serenity, tranquility and harmony
I hear my first text talking about united family
I hear my sister in her room listening to the Cure
I hear our children's screams when we went out in the yard
I hear the school bell announcing the end of the hour
I always hear more laughter than tears
I hear the metro doors and the crowd of line thirteen
I hear the accent of the illegals selling fries-merguez
I hear the bar pillars who philosophize and theorize
I hear the town hall bell ringing the cherry season

Is it serious, doctor, all these noises in my mind?
Is it an overflow of memories and my brain reacting?
Should it scare me? Actually, I think I understood
All these whispers, it's just tinnitus of nostalgia

I hear the old break-beats and the first hip-hop phrases
I hear the paint bombs, I wanted to tag with my friends
But I hear their snickers in front of my pathetic tags
I went back to do sports, I had a more athletic art
I hear parquet courts, bouncing balls
Packaged clamors and squeaking soles
I hear the referees whistle and sing in the locker rooms
I hear the coach yelling, as if the match was yesterday
I hear the craziest jokes on the Marville playgrounds
The French champions of Chambrette all lived in my city
On these asphalt courts, I wore out so many soles
I could play in the moonlight and, that, seven days a week
I hear the beautiful Corsican accent every summer, far from the grayness
I hear polyphonic songs at sunrise in Morosaglia
I hear the Moresques clinking and all these bonds that are welding
I hear them call me "fradé", I hear "pace e salute"

Is it serious, doctor, all these noises in my mind?
Is it an overflow of memories and my brain reacting?
Should it scare me? Actually, I think I understood
All these whispers, it's just tinnitus of nostalgia

I'm not worried, doctor, about all these funny tinnitus
When they arrive, I listen to them, I welcome them and I love them
The past doesn't haunt me but I don't forget its whims
I'm not afraid to reopen two or three scars
That's it, I'm no longer afraid of all these beautiful tinnitus
When they arrive, I listen to them, I welcome them and I love them
They are the codes of my story, it's like a soothing echo
They form a rhythm, a melody and they make my present dance

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