“Made in” 2018-01-18T10:52:43+01:00

TEXTES “Made in”

AUTEUR : Serge Balcon / Ref SACEM : 3404354011

She walks on major avenues
Regardless of all the people
Some moments she wants absolute
Yes, she wants just some time brittle
Hum . . . Hum
In complete peace

In the eyes of the men she meets
She sees lots of invitations
And in his heart this melody
So much like a real temptation
Hum . . . Hum
In complete peace

She dawdles
She wanders
And she slips in time . . . as over water
She dawdles
She wanders
Dans son Coeur de femm’ * . . .  love has its fevers

She dawdlers
She wanders
At all those fake smiles… return to sender
She dawdlers
She wanders
Dans son Coeur de femm’ * . . . the love is covert

She walk regardless of the hour
Calmly follows department stores
Everything here seems so austere
They never look at the flowers
Hum . . . Hum
In complete peace

Its sweet fragrance follows the street
It is his feminine imprint
The life for her is double or quits
It’s true that his heart remain young
Hum . . . Hum
In complete peace

Refrain

(*) Volontairement en français.

AUTEUR : Serge Balcon / Ref SACEM : 3408907311

The sky is charged of anger
It no longer swim in ponds
And its clouds filled with despair
. . . are numb

Leaves not follow the seasons
They retain their landing
When the winds of the horizon
. . . are dying

The desert bears your name
without you
It huddled in my arms
. . .
Everything is empty . . . oh since you
The needles of my watch
do not move
and the time does not pass
. . .
Everything is empty . . . oh since you
since you

Passersby have lost their face
And they gummed their smile
Deriving in this great mirage
. . . exile !

The dog always look for you
It barks for anything
Goes of happiness to woe
. . . sulky

Intermedium
Hum . . . hum . . . The hours are days
Hum . . . hum . . . The trouble a prey
Hum . . . hum . . . I look my way . . . Oh since you

Auteur : Serge Balcon / Ref SACEM : 3415788711

There in the heart as an old spleen
Puts me the soul in desertion.
A taste of rock of Led Zeppelin
Cry of guitar – In perdition.

The soul on the sand
Hum
The soul on the sand

Feet in the sea, I see my life
Which on the sand comes back to me
And I stay there to live in vain
Sat on this chair . . . Sorrow or dream ?

The soul on the sand
Hum
The soul on the sand

My Fender on knees, I see these roads
All these regions that I crossed
This Paradise, is as a wall
As a cold heart that we flooded

The soul on the sand
Hum
The soul on the sand

There in the heart as an old spleen
Comes back to me, is it a wave ?
I am feeling low, I am nothing
That a story, OH ! . . .  Forgotten !

(C’est ainsi)

AUTEUR : Serge Balcon / Ref SACEM : 3403859211

Ultime passage au fil de l’eau, d’une feuille qui glisse comme un bateau
voguant esclave de ce ruisseau
. . . obéissante.
Infime instant dans un regard, lorsqu’on se croise dans un couloir
sans se connaître, sans trop d’égard
. . .  qu’une élégance.
Sublime morsure dans un ciel bleu, qu’un avion griffe d’un trait laiteux
donnant à l’azur comme un vœu
. . . une espérance.
Hum . . . Hum . . .
Ainsi va la vie

It is so . . . it is so
By force of circumstance
It is so . . . it is so
in the indifference
*
It is so . . . it is so
By force of circumstance
It is so . . . it is so
In the silence
. . .
In the silence.

Instant furtif comme une claque, où un enfant joue au cosaque
et martèle une pauvre flaque
. . . belle innocence.
Un temps figé sur une horloge, un feu qui joue les virtuoses
et un tic-tac qui se dépose
. . . sur le silence.
Moment marqué là sur ta peau, par ma bouche qui joue aux ados
et te découvre par niveau
. . . si frémissante.
Hum . . . Hum . . .
Ainsi va la vie

It is so . . . it is so
By force of circumstance
It is so . . . it is so . . . Etc.

(J’veux plus que le vent te touche)

AUTEUR : Serge Balcon / Ref SACEM : 3415664811

I don’t want the wind to touch you
That it floods your face of its kisses
I don’t want the sun to caress you
By the shadows of its promises

I don’t want to see your eyes
Among of clandestine glances
Or the glance another man
Under your closed eyelids

I don’t want the light to touch you
Nor that the night caresses your skin
Or what the rain comes on you
Even if it’s come very slowly
I don’t want the wind to touch you
Even if its soft blowing
To imitate my mouth
. . .
Hum, and to reach . . . your lips.

I don’t want to leave your words
Listened by foreign ears
Nor the perfume of your skin
That it makes turn other heads

I don’t want that your sighs
(That) they blow for another people
And below our pure sky
That unknown crowds join us

AUTEUR : Serge Balcon / Ref SACEM : 3416398211

Your eyes linger on the platform
And you think you see it
You are leaning against the wall

The crowd that flies to his fate . . . always
Without looking at life
His steps are heavy as in clay

And you stay there, in the cold . . . alone
And you stay there . . . montionless near the gray wall

Where go the crowds with their whispers
A large shadow, heavy
Where go the crowds soulless
But where is he in this long dark sea
An endless wave . . . on the beach . . . from the city
Like a waterfall

Where go the crowds in their silence
To find the cries of the world
Where go the crowds so dense
Real puppets who forget the sorrows
Where go the crowds . . . who forget . . . all love stories

And you only walk down the street
Among all these strangers
Who live this ritual the week

You look at the pavements . . . always
Oh but you do not see
Now you do not know what to say

And you stay there, in the cold . . . alone
And you stay there . . . montionless near the gray wall
Looking at the crowd

Where go the crowds with their whispers
A large shadow, heavy
Where go the crowds soulless
But where is he in this long dark sea
An endless wave . . . on the beach . . . from the city
Like a waterfall

Where go the crowds in their silence
To find the cries of the world
Where go the crowds so dense
Real puppets who forget the sorrows
Where go the crowds . . . who forget . . . all love stories

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