When I shall be tired

To smile to these people who crush me

When I shall be tired

To tell them always the same sentences,

When their words will burst into pieces,

When there will be but walls in front of me,

I’ll go sleeping at the Haute-Savoie lady.

When I shall be tired

To move forward in the mists of a dream,

When I shall be tired

Of a job where you walk, where you die,

When tomorrow will bring me

Just the inhuman screams of a hound in dire straits,

I’ll go sleeping at the Haute-Savoie lady.

 

There are stars running

In the snow around

Of her wooden chalet,

There are garlands hanging from the roof.

And the night falls

On white fir trees,

Just when she strikes her fingers,

Just when she strikes her fingers.

When I shall have given everything,

Written everything, when there will be no more room for me,

Instead of jumping on

The first Jesus Christ passing by,

I shall take my guitar with me,

And maybe my dog

If he’s still around,

And I’ll go sleeping at the Haute-Savoie lady.