The fists clenched deep in the pockets of his jacket
Angelo is freaking out, he's still down
He blames the good Lord for fate
But deep in his head, he has no illusions
By constantly hitting on all fronts
Girls with their hearts set high on their thighs
The redhead from the dry cleaners, chicks or prostitutes
Sure, he's not done catching sad things
He dreamed of a girl who would be just his
Beautiful like a tattoo but still intelligent
That he could love a bit like a friend
He has a desire to die rising from his lower abdomen

So tonight, at the fair
With two or three guys
He'll go to the fight, to the fight
Like the worker goes to the coal mine
He'll go to the fight, to the fight
Throw punches, take hits
It might be stupid, but everything is stupid

The fists clenched deep in the pockets of his jacket
Angelo is freaking out, he's fired again
It's the fourth job since the beginning of the year
Anyway, he would have quit, but where he's wrong
Is that he had promised himself, before leaving
To crack the safe in the boss's office
And the skin of the little boss who never liked him
Because he parked his moped in front of the boss's spot
He dreamed of a job where you wouldn't have to clock in
Where you could go only when you feel like it
That you would do for pleasure, not to earn money
Apparently, that exists in philosophy

So tonight, in Pantin
With all his friends
He'll go to the fight, to the fight
Like the worker goes to the coal mine
He'll go to the fight, to the fight
Throw punches, take hits
It might be stupid, but everything is stupid

The fists clenched deep in the pockets of his jacket
Angelo is freaking out discovering the mess
In the icy room at the top of the house
Where his parents argue all day long
He can't find his Play-Boy collection under his bed
His mother threw away his rolling papers and his weed
His idiot little brother came to play cowboy
In his room, it's a mess and it makes him sick
He dreamed of a family he wouldn't have to endure
Parents who wouldn't be cops or priests
To not become like them, he doesn't want to grow old
And to never grow old, he knows he has to die

So tonight at the dance
With his pickaxe handle
He'll go to the fight, to the fight
Like the worker goes to the coal mine
He'll go to the fight, to the fight
Throw punches, take hits
It might be stupid, but everything is stupid

He'll go to the fight, to the fight
Like the worker goes to the coal mine
He'll go to the fight, to the fight
Throw punches, take hits

He'll go to the fight, to the fight
Like the worker goes to the coal mine
He'll go to the fight, to the fight
Throw punches, take hits

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