Benjamin Biolay — Sans viser personne song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "Sans viser personne" by Benjamin Biolay.
Lyrics
Il n’y a pas d’amour, il n’y a que des illusions
Il n’y a pas deux ciels, il n’y a qu’un seul horizon
Il n’y a pas de larmes, il n’y a que des sanglots longs
Sans viser personne
Il n’y a plus d’osmose, plus personne au diapason
Il n’y a plus de cosmos au dessus de nos balcons
Il n’y a que des fosses, plus que des dalles de béton
Sans viser personne
Déçu de vous, déçu de nous
Je ne crois plus en rien du tout
Y a plus d’Absolut, y a que de l’herbe de bison
Il n’y a plus de brute au grand c�?ur sous le blouson
Il n’y a plus de putes, il ne reste que les visons
Sans viser personne
Il n’y a plus d’ensemble, il n’y a que des divisions
Sous le ciel qui flambe au pays du roi des cons
Il n’y a plus d'été, il n’y a plus de belles saisons
Sans viser personne
Il n’y a plus de gauche, il n’y a que des moribonds
Il n’y a plus d'ébauche, plus que de vilains brouillons
Il n’y a plus de chance, il n’y a que des décisions
Sans viser personne
Y a plus de phalanges, y a plus que des hommes-tronc
Plus de baie des Anges mais des tronçons, des tronçons
Sous le ciel orange, au pays du roi des cons
Sans viser personne
Lyrics translation
There is no love, there are only illusions
There are no two skies, there is only one horizon
There are no tears, there are only long sobs
Without targeting anyone
There's no more osmosis, no more tuning fork
There is no more cosmos above our balconies
There are only pits, more than concrete slabs
Without targeting anyone
Disappointed in you, disappointed in US
I don't believe in anything anymore.
There's more Absolut, there's only buffalo grass
Is there no more brute in the Grand C ce?ur under the jacket
There are no more whores, there are only Mink left
Without targeting anyone
There is no more ensemble, there are only divisions
Under the sky that burns in the land of the king of ass
There is no more summer, there are no more beautiful seasons
Without targeting anyone
There are no more left, there are only dying
There are no more drafts, more than bad drafts
There is no more luck, there are only decisions
Without targeting anyone
There are more phalanges, there are more than trunk men
More Bay Of Angels but stretches, stretches
Under the orange sky, in the land of the king of cons
Without targeting anyone