Translation of Je suis mort qui, qui dit mieux from French to English
I am dead who, who can say better
Well my poor old man, here's another thing
I am dead who, who can say better
Dead the venom, cut the rose
I lost my soul on the way
Who, who finds it puts it to things
I lost my soul on the way
Who, who finds it throws it to the dogs
I had stuck myself with a female
Well then that, that's the most beautiful
I had stuck myself with a female
The day I burned my hooves
I had given her a child
Now that his father is no longer of this world
He has grown, this little starve-the-hunger
My widow must find him a godfather
She had already found him one
Hey, I don't have eyes in my pocket
She had already found him one
Lady, you have to plan in case of need
He's the one who will slap
My little one, to make him stand up straight
It's pretty, I find it ugly
To hit someone smaller than yourself
That said in this fucking cemetery
I lost my gloomy mood
No one ever comes
To bother me when I rest
Making love with the earth
I gave birth to little white worms
Who clean me, who digest me
Who make their nest in the hollow of my teeth
Stop me if I'm talking nonsense
Stop me or come and see me
Without violets, without tears or crowns
Come lose a moment of blues
I'll show you some cousins
Dead in the war or dead for nothing
Spirit that winks at you
Arms stretched out of the coffin
Today, I feel you are very tired
Don't be intimidated anymore
There is a place next to me
It's up to you to occupy it
What's wrong? Yes, time passes
And the little one is going to come back from school
Tell him his father was unlucky
He missed the train, it was the last one
Wait a minute, my wife, my love
There's a message for the boy
I don't have my head, I forget
Where I nested the accordion
Maybe in the basement, maybe in the attic
I won't rest until he learns
But it's late, save yourself, I love you
Don't laugh at the poor corpse
Those who have never bitten the widow
The noodle borders, the blank shots
Who haven't won a brand new death
At the mutant raffle
Can't know what's wriggling
In the holes of the deceased brain
When his half deposits a bunch of roses
On the thistle of the soil
When his half deposits a bunch of roses
On the thistle of the soil
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