I've just had eighteen autumn drinks
My soul is at bay in the face of winter
In this alas-Vegas town in the north
Where the neon lights disguise the nothingness
Third Avenue in two dimensions
The wind blows through the fake facades
On both sides of the street , the walls are on display
In this city where everything is about exile
Boredom circulates around the Metro
I stroll in front of the Casino
In this city, alas-Northern Vegas
Where dense and circular time
Leaves room for suicidal games
Adolescence leaning against billiards
Beautiful and rebel looks
On the parade of the big tanks
Val-d'Or, Val-d'Or, I will sing
Your vices which strive
In the rooms of your businesses
I will suffer your losses, reap your defeats
Faux val, wild plateau
Slowly advances the funeral procession
Under a downpour of hare skins
On the branches of passing trees
Beer cans are hung
An eco-friendly hood on the hood of a tank
br/>Empanache and grimacing at death
The parade in false notes unravels
And the marching band wades in the slush
I would bury myself in the snow until to Siscoe
Will make me a digger of gold, a digger of islands without treasure
And I will bury in the pit of desires
Your debauchery past and your present madness
An Algonquin leaves the hotel
In his eyes a spark Hello at home!, sings the choir
It's the Moose Festival
On four wheels the spirit of the festival
Alas, alas, she lost the north
In this town where everything is about exile
And all these sheriffs in this town
Now the Indian in his exile

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN