Always at the end of the tree a poem by Prévert
Always a bit of fever from drinking too much yesterday, huh
Unbuttoned shirt yeah I know it's winter
But my heart is tight so I'm making air, huh

If this anvil in the dark prevents me from leaving
I hold the pen of a story that remains to be written
And I do not lack time, I do not lack air

My way, my way
Life is for me a foreign language
My way, my way
But I will have lived it my way

If I have no talent other than to love you
I naively thought that would be enough for you, huh
Success, glory, how much did you want them
But alone when evening comes what do you do with confetti, hey

Happiness takes time to arrive
Maybe you just have to believe in it to see it appear
I know however that you are the last

My way, my way
Life is for me a foreign language
My way, my way
But I will have lived it my way

A few more seconds, still this taste of salt
On the tip of the tongue, I want to stay with her
Again
But life knocks you down no matter even if you love her
If there was room to live a second one
A little stronger

My way, my way
Life is a foreign language
My way, my way
But I will live it my way

My way, my way
Life is for me a foreign language
My way, my way
But I will have lived it my way

My way, my way
My way, my way
But I will have lived it my way

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