He was a bit of a poet and a bit of a vagabond
He had never known a homeland or a boss
He came from anywhere, went to the four winds
But inside, his trailer, we were ten children
And in the evening, around a campfire
We dreamed of a white house while singing

How long, how far, is your path, dad
It's really tiring to go where you're going
How long, how far, is your path, dad
You should stop in this corner

But he didn't listen to us, and at the break of day
The family resumed its long journey
Barely time for our mother, to wash his shirt
And there he goes again for a new Promised Land
And in the evening, around a campfire
She dreamed of a white house, while singing

How long, how far, is your path, dad
It's really tiring to go where you're going
How long, how far, is your path, dad
You should stop in this corner

And so, jolting, through the seasons
And so, looking, over the horizon
Without even realizing it, our father sowed us
In the four corners of the world, like grains of wheat
And somewhere, at the end of the universe
My father's old trailer still rolls

How long, how far, is your path, dad
It's really tiring to go where you're going
How long, how far, is your path, dad
You should stop in this corner

CONSULTER LES PAROLES ORIGINALES