Un vieux Monarque
A monarch with white whiskers,
Rowdy, drunken and fierce,
Faces trembling passers
And swells his chest bump.
It is red like wine.
-By Bacchus! he says, is brave me!
My hero, divine man!
Me the winner! Burggraf me!
The old me who has long
I conquered, showing my sole
Europe and all its inhabitants,
And infants at the breast!
Me then that in my opinion dress
Laughing blue flatters everyone,
Or old purple of Tyre,
The heavenly blue or scarlet!
See, I open my notebook
Embellished with gold and pearl;
Who wants to lose the taste of bread?
Who will he I massacre?
Who gave me this trouble?
Its irremediable destiny
Is perishing dice today
I'll kill him, even the devil!
Or do you know who speaks thus
In a hoarse and solemn voice
Which sometimes goes up if ?
Punch is the Lord.
It took the Spanish air
Crazy picking a star
Because he regrets his Guignol
His palace, his house canvas
Including a wide shell distraught
A slain Old Glory,
The other day in the middle of
Carrefour de l'Observatoire.
A monarch with white whiskers,
Rowdy, drunken and fierce,
Faces trembling passers
And swells his chest bump.
It is red like wine.
-By Bacchus! he says, is brave me!
My hero, divine man!
Me the winner! Burggraf me!
The old me who has long
I conquered, showing my sole
Europe and all its inhabitants,
And infants at the breast!
Me then that in my opinion dress
Laughing blue flatters everyone,
Or old purple of Tyre,
The heavenly blue or scarlet!
See, I open my notebook
Embellished with gold and pearl;
Who wants to lose the taste of bread?
Who will he I massacre?
Who gave me this trouble?
Its irremediable destiny
Is perishing dice today
I'll kill him, even the devil!
Or do you know who speaks thus
In a hoarse and solemn voice
Which sometimes goes up if ?
Punch is the Lord.
It took the Spanish air
Crazy picking a star
Because he regrets his Guignol
His palace, his house canvas
Including a wide shell distraught
A slain Old Glory,
The other day in the middle of
Carrefour de l'Observatoire.
Rowdy, drunken and fierce,
Faces trembling passers
And swells his chest bump.
It is red like wine.
-By Bacchus! he says, is brave me!
My hero, divine man!
Me the winner! Burggraf me!
The old me who has long
I conquered, showing my sole
Europe and all its inhabitants,
And infants at the breast!
Me then that in my opinion dress
Laughing blue flatters everyone,
Or old purple of Tyre,
The heavenly blue or scarlet!
See, I open my notebook
Embellished with gold and pearl;
Who wants to lose the taste of bread?
Who will he I massacre?
Who gave me this trouble?
Its irremediable destiny
Is perishing dice today
I'll kill him, even the devil!
Or do you know who speaks thus
In a hoarse and solemn voice
Which sometimes goes up if ?
Punch is the Lord.
It took the Spanish air
Crazy picking a star
Because he regrets his Guignol
His palace, his house canvas
Including a wide shell distraught
A slain Old Glory,
The other day in the middle of
Carrefour de l'Observatoire.
A monarch with white whiskers,
Rowdy, drunken and fierce,
Faces trembling passers
And swells his chest bump.
It is red like wine.
-By Bacchus! he says, is brave me!
My hero, divine man!
Me the winner! Burggraf me!
The old me who has long
I conquered, showing my sole
Europe and all its inhabitants,
And infants at the breast!
Me then that in my opinion dress
Laughing blue flatters everyone,
Or old purple of Tyre,
The heavenly blue or scarlet!
See, I open my notebook
Embellished with gold and pearl;
Who wants to lose the taste of bread?
Who will he I massacre?
Who gave me this trouble?
Its irremediable destiny
Is perishing dice today
I'll kill him, even the devil!
Or do you know who speaks thus
In a hoarse and solemn voice
Which sometimes goes up if ?
Punch is the Lord.
It took the Spanish air
Crazy picking a star
Because he regrets his Guignol
His palace, his house canvas
Including a wide shell distraught
A slain Old Glory,
The other day in the middle of
Carrefour de l'Observatoire.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.