Yves Duteil — L'enfant poète song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "L'enfant poète" by Yves Duteil.
Lyrics
Cet enfant couvait dans sa t�te, un po�te, un grand �rudit
Il faisait des vers en cachette, un beau jour, il n’a plus �crit
Ses parents, l'�glise et le ma�tre, peu � peu, lui ont tout appris
Presque tout, sauf � se conna�tre, � trouver son bonheur en lui
� vouloir baliser sa route, il d�couvre de moins en moins
Les chemins qui s’ouvraient sans doute
Dans le creux de ses propres mains
Cet enfant grandira quand m�me et vivra peur-�tre tr�s vieux
Mais sans d�couvrir le po�me qui manquait pour qu’il soit heureux
Cet artiste de la tendresse composait des chansons si vraies
Que les gens fredonnaient sans cesse
Puis un jour ils n’ont plus chant�
� l'�cran, pour que les gens l’aiment, il avait aussi maquill�
Son talent, son c�t� boh�me, son amour et sa libert�
� vouloir faire entrer son r�ve par un tube dans la t�l�
Il en avait perdu la s�ve et rompu le charme secret
Le chanteur, bien longtemps encore, chantera sans savoir pourquoi
Le public applaudit moins fort ses jolies chansons d’autrefois
Chacun de nous dans son domaine participe selon son c? ur A la grande aventure humaine, par sa qu�te vers le bonheur
C’est l’id�al de notre enfance qui nous porte � r�ver plus haut
� cultiver nos diff�rences pour b�tir un monde plus beau
Mais si l’on tort et qu’on �crase dans des cases et sur des tableaux
Tous ceux qui g�nent ou qui d�passent
Pour qu’ils rentrent dans le troupeau
Suffira-t-il pour �tre un homme d’accepter que notre destin
Consiste � rentrer dans la norme, � rester sur le droit chemin…
Le murmure de l’imaginaire rec�le aussi notre avenir
Mais si on l’oblige � se taire, que la source vienne � tarir
On verra germer la col�re et tous les espoirs d�p�rir
Des bourgeons que tous ces hivers auront pr�par�s � fleurir
La libert� m�rit sans cesse dans les �mes et dans les esprits
Il faut des si�cles de tendresse pour en cueillir un jour le fruit
Mais si l’enfant devient po�te, il nous offre d�j� celui
Que dans son c? ur et dans sa t�te, pour toujours il aura cueilli
Lyrics translation
This child was hatching in his t c o Te, a little c o te, a big rout
He was doing hidden verses, one fine day, he didn't write anymore
His parents, the girl and the girl, little by little, taught him everything
Almost everything except that she knows herself, that she finds her happiness in him
if he wants to mark his way, he's covering less and less
The paths that probably opened
In the hollow with his own hands
This child will grow up when m CIE me and live scared-CIE tr tr CIE s old
But without D eccover the po ECC me that was missing for him to be happy
This tenderness artist composed such real songs
That people were humming endlessly
Then one day they no longer sing
ATO L ' ATO cran, for people to love him, he also had makeup to
Her talent, her love and her freedom
want to get his R Rive ve through a tube into the T Rive l
He had lost his life and broken the secret charm
The singer, for a long time, will sing without knowing why
The audience applauds less loudly his beautiful songs of yesteryear
Each of us in his field participates according to his c? to the great human adventure, through its quest for happiness
It is the ID jour al of our childhood that brings us jour R jour ver higher
to cultivate our differences for a better world
But if we are wrong and we are crase in boxes and on tables
All those who pass through
For them to enter the flock
Will it be enough for a man to accept that our Destiny
It consists of getting into the norm, staying on the right path…
The murmur of the imaginary rec cient the also our future
But if we force him to be silent, let the source come to dry
We will see sprout the Col je re and all the hopes d je p je rir
Buds that all these winters will have pr Oy by Oy s Oy Bloom
Freedom continues to laugh in minds and minds
It takes so many keys of tenderness to one day pick the fruit
But if the child becomes po cient Te, he offers us D cient J cient the one
Than in his c? and in his t o te, forever he will have plucked