I always dream of getting away, of running away, of cutting out, of getting the hell out.
I who would love so much to stop running
Take the time to have cats, little cats
Dogs, lots of children
An old armchair by the fire
Where I could slide in with someone
Have my books at hand that open by themselves
To the pages we love and reread endlessly
Because we love them.
A little bell tower of Cocagne
That I would hear ringing in winter just like in summer
Night and day over the countryside
Would make me want to never change my life.

Every evening I would see the crazy whirlwind of the world in front of my TV
My cats, my dogs snoozing at our feet with closed fists
And outside the winter wind would be trying hard
To bend the poplars that we would have planted together
And the autumn evenings would flow sweet and monotonous
And every night we would say darling we are celebrating
Ah! what a little life of Cocagne
In winter just like in summer I could not get tired of it
Night and day in my countryside
Neither seen nor known in my little lost corner
But here I have to get away, run away, cut out
Get the hell out
I don't even have the time
To forget myself for a moment
Far from the present
Goodbye my cats my little cats,
My dogs, goodbye the wind
This old armchair by the fire
I will never be hidden there with someone
It's silly this dream that I have every day in my little car...
Coming from the office....
Which ruins my life
With nostalgia! ....

CONSULTER LES PAROLES ORIGINALES