Connais pas, mais quelque chose me dit que ce n’est pas grave…
Pas en français
Now my grandfather was a sailor
He blew in off the water
My father was a farmer
And i, his only daughter
Took up with a no good millworking man
From massachusetts
Who dies from too much whiskey
And leaves me these three faces to feed
Millwork ain’t easy
Millwork ain’t hard
Millwork it ain’t nothing
But an awful boring job
I’m waiting for a daydream
To take me through the morning
And put me in my coffee break
Where I can have a sandwich
And remember
Then it’s me and my machine
For the rest of the morning
For the rest of the afternoon
And the rest of my life
Now my mind begins to wander
To the days back on the farm
I can see my father smiling at me
Swinging on his arm
I can hear my granddad’s stories
Of the storms out on lake eerie
Where vessels and cargos and fortunes
And sailors’ lives were lost
Yes, but it’s my life has been wasted
And I have been the fool
To let this manufacturer
Use my body for a tool
I can ride home in the evening
Staring at my hands
Swearing by my sorrow that a young girl
Ought to stand a better chance
So may I work the mills just as long as I am able
And never meet the man whose name is on the label
It be me and my machine
For the rest of the morning
And the rest of the afternoon
Gone for the rest of my life
bertrand dit:Connais pas, mais quelque chose me dit que ce n'est pas grave...
Non en effet, c'est pas grave !
Je savais pas que c’était une traduction…
grolapinos dit::shock: Je savais pas que c'était une traduction...
Lors de sa dernière tournée,Cabrel l'a chantée avec son auteur. c'est d'ailleurs en bonus dans le dvd.
Contrairement à Cabrel, c'est pas l'usine la plus importante.
Me and the machine ?
Non.
Ce n’est pas le lieu mais la personne qui travaille dans ce lieu…
The millworker ?
grolapinos dit:The millworker ?
Millworker tout simplement , de James Taylor.
J'avoue préférer la copie à l'originale.
A toi Grolapinos
Sapristi, quel embarras… Je relance dans la soirée 
La donna con me,
molto di piu di una donna qualsiasi,
Io voglio lei un bene fortissimo,
Un grido bellissimo
Canto tutto e niente,
Una musica senza musica
Dove tutto niente
Come musica nella musica
Il luogo com? Una valle di nomadi
Tutto qui.
Ascoltami, tu, uomo di Neanderthal,
Si, o di Tangeri,
C qualcuno tra voi che sappia suonare
Una danza vertigine, un ballo frin frun
Che tolga le scarpe e le calse alle femmine?
Suona tutto e niente,
Una musica nella musica
Dove tutto niente
Come polvere sulla polvere
Si suona cos: con grazzia plebea,
La mani che sudano
Ed offrono a noi, caro elisir,
Larabesca impossibile
Dove tutto niente
Solo musica, brava musica
E la danza splende
Come un diavolo in un fulmine
Je dirais Paolo Conte… Musica ?
C’est lui, mais c’est pas le bon titre. Repends un peu de potin magique, et tu trouveras…
Elisir
Mais il te manque plein de mots… J’ai trouvé en regardant mon CD avec les paroles…
Bon alors… tant pis, on va faire dans l’anglais…
So here I am once more in the playground of the broken hearts
One more experience, one more entry in a diary, self-penned
Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and pride
Too late to say I love you, too late to re-stage the play
Abandoning the relics in my playground of yesterday
I’m losing on the swings, I’m losing on the roundabouts
I’m losing on the swings, I’m losing on the roundabouts
Too much, too soon, too far to go, too late to play, the game is over
The game is over
So here I am once more in the playground of the broken heart
I’m losing on the swings, losing on the roundabouts, the game is over, over
Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and pride
I’m losing on the swings, losing on the roundabouts, the game is over
Too late to say I love you, too late to re-stage the play
The game is over
I act the role in classic style of a martyr carved with twisted smile
To bleed the lyric for this song to write the rites to right my wrongs
An epitaph to a broken dream to exorcise this silent scream
A scream that’s borne from sorrow
I never did write that love song, the words just never seemed to flow
Now sad in reflection did I gaze through perfection
And examine the shadows on the other side of the morning
And examine the shadows on the other side of mourning
Promised wedding now a wake
The fool escaped from paradise will look over his shoulder and cry
Sit and chew on daffodils and struggle to answer why?
As you grow up and leave the playground
Where you kissed your prince and found your frog
Remember the jester that showed you tears, the script for tears
So I’ll hold our peace forever when you wear your bridal gown
In the silence of my shame the mute that sang the sirens’ song
Has gone solo in the game, I’ve gone solo in the game
But the game is over
Can you still say you love me
Marrillion Script for a jester tear?
Trop fort…
Bah, il n’y a pas beaucoup de chansons à ma connaissance où on trouve en même temps “jester” “script” et “tears” 
In a dusty town
a clock struck high noon,
Two men stood face to face.
One wore black and one wore white,
But of fear there wasn’t a trace.
Two hundred years later
two hot rods drag race
through the very same place,
And a half a million people,
moved in to pick up the pace.
A factory full of people,
Makin’ parts to go to outer space.
A train load of people,
They were aimin’ for another place.
Out of town people.
There’s a man in the window
with a big cigar,
Says everything’s for sale.
The house and the boat
and the railroad car.
The owner’s gotta go to jail.
He acquired these things
from a life of crime,
Now he’s selling them
to raise his bail.
He was rippin’ off the people.
Sellin’ guns to the underground.
Tryin’ to help the people,
Lose their ass
for a piece of ground.
Rippin’ off the people.
Skimmin’ the top when
there was no one around.
Tryin’ to help the people.
He was dealing antiques
in a hardware store,
But he sure had a lot to hide.
He had a backroom full
of the guns of war,
And a ton of ammunition besides.
Well, he walked with a cane,
Kept a bolt on the door
with five pit bulls inside.
Just a warning to the people,
Who might try to break in at night.
Protection from the people,
Selling safety
in the darkest night.
Tryin’ to help the people.
Get the drugs
to the street all right.
Ordinary people.
Well, it’s hard to say
where a man goes wrong,
Might be here
and it might be there.
What starts out weak
might get too strong,
If you can’t tell foul from fair.
But it’s hard to judge
from an angry throng,
Of hands stretched into the air.
The vigilante people.
Takin’ law into their own hands.
Conscientious people.
Crackin’ down on
the druglord’s land.
Government people.
Confiscatin’ all
the dealer’s land.
Patch-of-ground people.
Down at the factory,
they’re puttin’ new windows in.
The vandals made a mess of things,
And the homeless
just walked right in.
Well, they worked here once,
and they live here now,
But they might work here again,
They’re ordinary people.
And they’re livin’ in a nightmare.
Hard workin’ people.
And they don’t know
how they got there.
Ordinary people.
And they think that you don’t care.
Hard workin’ people.
Down on the assembly line,
they keep puttin’
the same thing out.
But the people today,
they just ain’t buyin’.
Nobody can figure it out.
Well, they try like hell
to build a quality end,
They’re workin’ hard
without a doubt,
They’re ordinary people.
And the dollar’s
what it’s all about.
Hard workin’ people.
But the customers are walkin’ out.
Lee Iacocca people.
Yeah, they look
but they just don’t buy.
Hard workin’ people.
Two out of work models
and a fashion slave,
Try to dance away
the Michelob night.
The bartender poured
himself another drink,
While two drunks sat
watchin’ the fight.
The champ went down,
then he got up again,
And then he went out like a light.
He was fightin’ for the people,
But his timing wasn’t right.
For Las Vegas people,
Who came to see a Las Vegas fight.
High rollin’ people,
Takin’ limos
though the neon night.
Fightin’ for the people.
And then a new Rolls Royce
and a company car,
They went flyin’ down the street.
Each one tryin’
to make it to the gate,
Before employees manned the fleet.
The trucks full of products
for the modern home,
Set to roll out into the street,
Of downtown people,
Tryin’ to make their way to work.
Nose-to-the-stone people,
Some are saints, and some are jerks.
Hard workin’ people,
Stoppin’ for a drink
on the way to work.
Alcoholic people,
Yeah, they’re takin’ it
one day, one day at a time.
Out on the railroad track,
they’re cleanin’ up number 9.
They’re scrubbin’ the boiler down,
well, she really is lookin’ fine.
Ah, she’s lookin’ so good,
they’re gonna
bring her back on line.
Ordinary people.
They’re gonna bring
the good things back.
Nose-to-the stone people.
Put the business back on track.
Ordinary people,
I got faith in the regular kind.
Hard workin’ people.
Patch-of-ground people.
Dirty old town ?
Cookie dit:Dirty old town ?
Non,c'est plus canadien qu'irlandais
C’est du Neil Young mais me rappelle plus le titre… 
Ordinary People