Thanks to Spike for today's thread starter. Translation of the lyrics, for those of us whose French is a bit rusty:
Orly
More than two thousand people
But I see only those two
It's as if the rain has welded them together
More than two thousand people
But I see only those two
And I know they're talking
He must be saying "I love you"
She must be saying "I love you"
I believe they're making no promises
They're too thin to be dishonest
More than two thousand people
But I see only those two
And suddenly he weeps
His tears gushing fast
Surrounded as they are
By fat, sweaty passers
And guzzlers of hope
Who point their noses
But these two superb, tormented mourners
Leave the feat of judgment to the dogs
Life does no favours!
And my god, Orly's bleak on Sunday
With or without Bécaud*
And now they're crying
Both of them are crying
Before it was him
Who was in tears
Clinging so close together
They can hear nothing
But the other's sobs
And then, infinitely
Like two bodies at prayer
Infinitely slowly
The two bodies pull apart
And as they pull apart
The two bodies tear
And I swear they scream
Then pull back together
Become one again
Become fire again
And tear again
They hold each other's eyes
And then, moving back
Like the sea retreats
They consummate their farewell
He drools a few words
Waves a vague hand
And suddenly he flees
Without looking back
And then he disappears
Gulped down by the stairs
Life does no favours!
And my god, Orly's bleak on Sunday
With or without Bécaud
And then he disappears
Gulped down by the stairs
She's left there
Heart crossed, mouth open
Without a cry, without a word
She knows her death
She's just crossed its path
Now she turns
And turns again
Her arms reach the ground
There! She's a thousand years old
The door has closed again
She's there in the darkness
She turns in circles
And already she knows
That she'll turn forever
She's lost men
But now she's losing love
Love has told her
"See, futility again"
She'll live through plans
That will always wait
Here she is, fragile again
Before going on sale
I'm there, I follow
I dare nothing for her
Nibbled by the crowd
Like some piece of fruit
*Gilbert Bécaud, who performed a song called Un Dimanche à Orly
Orly
More than two thousand people
But I see only those two
It's as if the rain has welded them together
More than two thousand people
But I see only those two
And I know they're talking
He must be saying "I love you"
She must be saying "I love you"
I believe they're making no promises
They're too thin to be dishonest
More than two thousand people
But I see only those two
And suddenly he weeps
His tears gushing fast
Surrounded as they are
By fat, sweaty passers
And guzzlers of hope
Who point their noses
But these two superb, tormented mourners
Leave the feat of judgment to the dogs
Life does no favours!
And my god, Orly's bleak on Sunday
With or without Bécaud*
And now they're crying
Both of them are crying
Before it was him
Who was in tears
Clinging so close together
They can hear nothing
But the other's sobs
And then, infinitely
Like two bodies at prayer
Infinitely slowly
The two bodies pull apart
And as they pull apart
The two bodies tear
And I swear they scream
Then pull back together
Become one again
Become fire again
And tear again
They hold each other's eyes
And then, moving back
Like the sea retreats
They consummate their farewell
He drools a few words
Waves a vague hand
And suddenly he flees
Without looking back
And then he disappears
Gulped down by the stairs
Life does no favours!
And my god, Orly's bleak on Sunday
With or without Bécaud
And then he disappears
Gulped down by the stairs
She's left there
Heart crossed, mouth open
Without a cry, without a word
She knows her death
She's just crossed its path
Now she turns
And turns again
Her arms reach the ground
There! She's a thousand years old
The door has closed again
She's there in the darkness
She turns in circles
And already she knows
That she'll turn forever
She's lost men
But now she's losing love
Love has told her
"See, futility again"
She'll live through plans
That will always wait
Here she is, fragile again
Before going on sale
I'm there, I follow
I dare nothing for her
Nibbled by the crowd
Like some piece of fruit
*Gilbert Bécaud, who performed a song called Un Dimanche à Orly
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