at my age
24
at my age, one does not run,
We walk and think,
We invent rondeaux,
In the river, every day, we drown,
at my age, one does not run,
Girls are mirages,
who disappear into the desert,
to whom should we offer another glass?
We no longer believe in much,
That in the beauty of roses,
to whom should we offer another glass?
We walk and think,
at my age, one does not run,
25
I wrote some mischief,
Excuse me, friends,
I could have done better,
Kissing the sweet Jennifer,
Excuse me, friends.
The rondeaux are my friends,
Whether they are gay or cursed,
Excuse me friends,
I should have seen Lapland,
With Julie or Aunt Mélanie,
I could have done better,
Cross the great desert,
I wrote some mischief.
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