Текст и перевод песни Michel Sardou - Le Blues Black Brothers

Le Blues Black Brothers

Le jeune homme est parti,
Le jeune homme a craqué.
La musique qu′il écrit,
Personne ne veut la jouer.
Il a, comme dans l'histoire
Où s′envole un enfant,
Ecrit sur le miroir:
"Je pars, mes chers parents..."
Il sera mieux chez lui,
Dans le monde où il va.
Ce qu'il chante, ce qu'il dit
Se ressent mieux là-bas.
Un avion au hasard,
Dans une heure, à Roissy,
Et respirer ce soir
Les fumées de Saint Louis.
Que devient le blues black brothers,
Les accents de Fever,
Les sermons du sauveur,
Le "vieux carré" du spleen?
Que devient le blues black brothers
Dans le flingue du killer
Dans la came du dealer?
Les slides-guitares se minent.
Que devient le blues black brothers?
Passé l′Hudson River,
Tous les chagrins sont clean...
Que devient le blues black brothers
Dans les feux du driver,
Dans les yeux du rêveur
Quand le soleil décline?
Que devient le blues black brothers
Dans la main du gambler,
Dans la nuit du voleur,
Quand le film se termine?
Que devient le blues black brothers?
Passé l′Hudson River,
Tous les chagrins sont clean.
Que devient le blues black brothers?
Que devient le blues black brothers,
Le saxo du lover,
Le credo du serveur
Devant son verre de gin?
Que devient le blues black brothers,
Le K.O. du boxeur,
Le tango du danseur
Devant les sex-machines?
Que devient le blues black brothers?
Passé l'Hudson River,
Tous les chagrins sont clean.
Que devient le blues black brothers?
Que devient le blues black brothers?

Black Brothers' Blues

Young man, you've gone away,
Young man, you couldn't stay.
The songs that are inside you,
No one is willing to play.
And like in stories of old,
Where children fly away,
You wrote upon your mirror:
"Dearest parents, I'm on my way..."
You'll be better off on your own,
In the world where you are going.
For the things you sing and say,
Will be better understood there.
You'll take a plane at random,
An hour from Roissy,
And breathe the evening air,
The smoky air of Saint Louis.
So what has become of the Black Brothers' blues,
The sultry notes of Fever,
The sermons of the preacher,
The "old square" of sorrow?
What has become of the Black Brothers' blues
In the gun of the killer,
In the drugs of the dealer?
The slide guitars are dying.
What has become of the Black Brothers' blues?
Far beyond the Hudson River,
Where sorrows are clean and clear...
What has become of the Black Brothers' blues
In the headlights of the driver,
In the eyes of the dreamer,
As the sun goes down?
What has become of the Black Brothers' blues
In the hand of the gambler,
In the night of the thief,
When the movie ends?
What has become of the Black Brothers' blues?
Far beyond the Hudson River,
Where sorrows are clean and clear.
What has become of the Black Brothers' blues?
What has become of the Black Brothers' blues,
The lover's saxophone,
The credo of the waiter,
As he serves your glass of gin?
What has become of the Black Brothers' blues,
The boxer's knockout,
The dancer's tango,
Before the sex machines?
What has become of the Black Brothers' blues?
Far beyond the Hudson River,
Where sorrows are clean and clear.
What has become of the Black Brothers' blues?
What has become of the Black Brothers' blues?