Forget the ideological antagonisms to greet the evocative power of impregnating his melodies, his words chiseled for a voice of velvet warm mountain ... He found the sacred pantheon of the giants of French song. To you Brassens, Brel, ferries, Ferrat's ...
His death reminds me that in the late eighties, when non classmates thought to pure entertainment, I allowed myself to writing antimilitarists lyrics to the tune of Woman is the Future of Man , although the tone of sweet thundering
The time has lost reason
There will no longer horizon,
And the man has lost his mome.
For the day we all crèv'rons,
I declare these arrant fools,
The bomb is a reflection of your death.
All commenc'ra with two words,
And end up in a heap
In flesh, all indescribable.
Today people feel sorry
Some dropped their roof
Others hide in their bible.
The time has lost reason
There will be no substantive
The core of Eve, alone on the ground,
Rappel'ra track of those pieces
whom I said without passion:
The bomb is a reflection of your death.
To achieve these sufferings
Where we n'peut die in silence
It took many wars.
And we quitt'rons our young
Just to appease their rage
Who destroyed our old Earth.
The time has lost reason
There will be more blooming.
Mothers, stained with blood, sobbing
Given all these bodies without lace
whom I remember my vision
The bomb is a reflection of your death.
be lost when the latest,
That last body will be stiff,
When any remorse s'ra impossible
I curse all those armies,
I spit on the officers
Who should all be in the asylum.
The time has lost reason
And there is no horizon,
The man murdered his mome.
To this day when we all are dying,
I tell these soldiers, these idiots,
The bomb is a reflection of our death.
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