Текст и перевод песни Louise Verneuil - Blue Sunday

Blue Sunday

Spleen, spleen
Au fil des couvreurs d'avril
J'enfouis mes larmes dans ton sweat
C'est l'alcool de Sunday morning
Stone, stone
Comme un tas de feuilles d'automne
T'habites un désert monotone
La ville s'esquisse en gris, qu'on crayonne
Aux élans d'amours, les murs y sont sourds, sans audace
Et sous l'oreiller, nul peut étouffer le temps qui passe
My arms are cold as yours for sure
Won't stay in bed with you, my man
Love first, I stick, these eyes are sick
I lost the stress, my blue Sunday
My arms are cold as yours for sure
Won't stay in bed with you, my man
But love first, I stick, these eyes are sick
I lost the stress, my blue, my blue Sunday
Sunday
Spleen, spleen
Tracées à l'indélébile
Les gouttes de pluie dans mes cils
Entre chaque rang de ballerines
Stone, stone
Dans cette bulle, qui m'assomme
Odeur de flemme comme un chewing-gum
Qui colle à ma peau en hématome
Dans ce mal sans nom, seule dans les bas-fonds, je laisse
Mes belles illusions, dans un puits sans fond, en exil
My arms are cold as yours for sure
Won't stay in bed with you, my man
But love first, I stick, these eyes are sick
I lost the stress, my blue Sunday
My arms are cold as yours for sure
I lost the stress, my blue, my blue Sunday
Sunday
My arms are cold as yours for sure
I lost the stress, my blue, my blue Sunday
Sunday

Blue Sunday

Spleen, spleen
In the thread of the April roofers
I bury my tears in your sweatshirt
It's the Sunday morning alcohol
Stone, stone
Like a pile of autumn leaves
You live in a monotonous desert
The city is sketched in gray, drawn in crayon
With the rushes of love, the walls are deaf, without audacity
And under the pillow, no one can stifle the time that passes
My arms are cold as yours for sure
Won't stay in bed with you, my man
Love first, I stick, these eyes are sick
I lost the stress, my blue Sunday
My arms are cold as yours for sure
Won't stay in bed with you, my man
But love first, I stick, these eyes are sick
I lost the stress, my blue, my blue Sunday
Sunday
Spleen, spleen
Traced in indelible ink
The raindrops in my eyelashes
Between each row of ballerinas
Stone, stone
In this bubble, which stuns me
Smell of laziness like chewing gum
That sticks to my skin as a bruise
In this evil without a name, alone in the bottom, I leave
My beautiful illusions, in a bottomless well, in exile
My arms are cold as yours for sure
Won't stay in bed with you, my man
But love first, I stick, these eyes are sick
I lost the stress, my blue Sunday
My arms are cold as yours for sure
I lost the stress, my blue, my blue Sunday
Sunday
My arms are cold as yours for sure
I lost the stress, my blue, my blue Sunday
Sunday