Listen, people of Paris:
You don't have a fever.
Listen to these steps that walk in the night,
Which approach your dream.
You see shadows which form a gigantic fresco hanging in your sky.
Listen, people of Paris:
Look, people of Paris, these eternal shadows
Who parade while singing under your sky.
We the grunts, the grenadiers,
Without grenades, without rifles or shoes,
Without enemies and without an army,
We are bored in the night of the past.
We the grunts, the grenadiers,
Without grenades, without guns, or shoes,
Tonight we are going to parade
In the middle of your Champs-Elysà ©es.
Wagram, Iéna, Eylau, Arcole, Marengo... It sounds good.
What lovely battles.
All this work,
It was not for nothing
Since the names of streets,
The names of avenues
Where you walk,
It is with the blood
Of our twenty years
That we engraved them.
We the grunts, the grenadiers,
Without grenades, without rifles or shoes,
Without enemies and without an army,
We are bored in the night of the past.
We the grunts, the grenadiers,
We died on foreign fields.
We visited Russia
But we never saw Paris.
We didn't have time
To have a spring
That smiles on us.
Our poor loves
Last one day,
Goodbye and thank you.
Roll, roll drums.
In the dawn
We were leaving.
To the sound of the bugle
And the cannon,
Our life danced.
We the grunts, the grenadiers,
We have been forgotten, forgotten...
Since the time of our fighting,
There were so many soldiers
But, this night, you will see us
Without grenades, without rifles or shoes,
Parading in rhythmic step
In the middle of your Champs-Elysées
No grenades...
No guns...
No shoes...
In Paris...< br/>

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN