It was a little happiness
That I had picked up
It was all in tears
On the edge of a ditch
When it saw me passing by
It started to shout:
"Sir, pick me up
Take me to your home"
My brothers have forgotten me, I fell, I am sick
If you don't pick me up, I'm going to die, what a ballad!
I will make myself small, tender and submissive, I swear
Sir, I beg you, deliver me from my torture"

I took the little happiness
Put it under my rags
I said: "It must not die
Come to my house"
Then the little happiness
Made its recovery
On the edge of my heart
There was a song
My days, my nights, my sorrows, my griefs, my pain, all was forgotten
My idle life, I was disgusted to start again
When it was raining outside or when my friends were causing me pain
I took my little happiness and I said to him: "You are my queen"

My happiness bloomed
It made buds
It was paradise
It showed on my forehead
But one beautiful morning
As I was whistling this refrain
My happiness left
Without giving me its hand
I begged it, cajoled it, made scenes
Showed it the big hole it was making in my heart
It always went away, head high, without joy, without hate
As if it could no longer see the sun in my house

I thought about dying
From sorrow and boredom
I had stopped laughing
It was always night
I had left oblivion
I had left contempt
Finally I said to myself:
"I still have life"
I took up my stick, my griefs, my sorrows and my rags
And I beat the pavement in countries of unhappy people
Today when I see a fountain or a girl
I make a big detour or I close my eyes
I make a big detour or I close my eyes...

CONSULTER LES PAROLES ORIGINALES