Edith Piaf — Le chevalier de Paris song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "Le chevalier de Paris" by Edith Piaf.
Lyrics
Le grand chevalier du c? ur de Paris
Se rappelait plus du go? t des prairies.
Il faisait la guerre avec ses amis
Dedans la fum? e,
Dedans les m? tros,
Dedans les pav? s,
Dedans les bistrots.
Il ne savait pas qu’il en? tait sao? l.
Il ne savait pas qu’il dormait debout.
Paris le tenait par la peau du cou.
Ah ! Les pommiers doux,
Rondes et ritournelles.
J’ai pas peur des loups,
Chantonnait la belle.
Ils ne sont pas m? chants
Avec les enfants
Qu’ont le c? ur fid? le Et les genoux blancs…
Sous un pommier doux, il l’a retrouv? e,
Croisant le soleil avec la ros? e.
Vivent les chansons pour les Bien-aim?es.
Je me souviens d’elle au sang de velours.
Elle avait des mains qui parlaient d’amour
Et tressait l’argile avec les nuages
Et pressait le vent contre son visage
Pour en exprimer l’huile des voyages.
«Adieu mon Paris», dit le chevalier.
«J'ai dormi cent ans, debout sans manger
Les pommes d’argent de mes doux pommiers.»
Alors le village a cri? si fort
Que toutes les filles ont couru dehors
Mais le chevalier n’a salu? qu’elle
Au sang de velours, au c? ur tant fid? le,
Chevalier fera la guerre en dentelles.
(function ();
document.write ('
Lyrics translation
The great knight of the c? ur of Paris
Remembered more of the go? t of the prairies.
He was at war with his friends
In the smoke? U.S.A.,
Inside the m's? tros,
In the pavs? s,
In the bistros.
He didn't know he was? tait sao? l.
He didn't know he was sleeping standing.
Paris held him by the skin of his neck.
Ah! Sweet apple trees,
Round and round.
I'm not afraid of wolves.,
The beauty was singing.
They're not m? singing
With children
What's with the c? ur fid? the and white knees…
Under a soft apple tree, he found it? U.S.A.,
Crossing the sun with the ros? e.
Live songs for good-aim?BSC.
I remember her in velvet blood.
She had hands that spoke of love
And braided the clay with the clouds
And pressed the wind against his face
To express the oil of travel.
"Farewell My Paris," says the Knight.
"I slept a hundred years, standing without eating
The Silver Apples of my sweet apple trees.»
So the village screamed? so loud
That all the girls ran out
But the Knight did not salute? that she
Velvet blood, c? ur tant fid? the,
Knight will make war in lace.
(function ();
document.write ('