It was Uncle Martin, it was Uncle Gaston
One loved the Tommies, the other loved the Teutons
Each one, for his friends, both of them died
Me, who loved no one, well, I'm still alive

Now, dear uncles, that time has passed
That your war widows have finally remarried
That we have refreshed, in the sky of Verdun
The tarnished stars of Marshal Pétain

Now that your controversies have quieted
That we have well divided the ropes of the hanged
Now that John Bull is sulking at us, now
That it's over with German quarrels

That your daughters and sons go, hand in hand
Making love together and the Europe of tomorrow
That they care about your battles almost as much
As we cared about the Hundred Years' War

We can admit to you now, dear uncles
You, the friend of the Tommies, you, the friend of the Teutons
That, of your truths, your counter-truths
Everyone doesn't care unanimously

About your purges, your collaborations
Your abominations and your desolations
About your sauerkraut dishes and your cups of tea
Everyone doesn't care unanimously

Despite these memories that we commemorate
The flames that we rekindle at the war memorials
Of the victors, the vanquished, the others and you
With all due respect, everyone doesn't care

Life, as they say, has resumed all its rights
Your two crosses don't cast much shadow anymore
And, little by little, you have become
Minus the Arc de Triomphe, unknown soldiers

Now, I'm sure, dear unfortunate uncles
You, the friend of the Tommies, you, the friend of the Teutons
If you had lived, if you were here
It's you who would be singing the song that follows

You would sing, toasting together to your health
That it's crazy to lose life for ideas
Ideas like that, which come and go
Three little turns, three little deaths, and then they leave

That no idea on earth is worth a death
That we should leave this role to those who don't have any
That taking the enemy as he comes, on the spot
Is mush for cats and dogs

That instead of aiming at some vague enemy
It's better to wait a bit until he becomes a friend
It's better to turn your rifle seven times in your hand
It's always better to postpone a volley until tomorrow

That the only generals we should follow on their heels
Are the generals of little tin soldiers
So, you would both sing along
Malbrough who goes to war in the land of children

Oh you, who are taking the keys to heaven today
You, the lucky rascals who will see God tonight
When you meet my two uncles, over there
Offer them on my behalf these "Forget-me-nots"

These two forget-me-nots blooming in my garden
A little forget me not for my Uncle Martin
A little vergiss mein nicht for my Uncle Gaston
Poor friend of the Tommies, poor friend of the Teutons

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