I was fifteen years old
It was the time
Of my first guitar
And all this time
Often comes back
From the bottom from my memory
Those fifteen years ago
It was Django
Who made them celebrate
In those days  
It was Django
That we had in our heads
In his music
There was like
A smell of fire of wood
There was a je ne sais quoi
Half Harlem
Half bohemian
And above all... passing by
Joyful, wonderful clouds
Similar to those
In the eyes
All travelers
Since that time
I had time
To change guitar
And the gypsy
From my fifteen years
Is there in my memory
And, many times
It's against my will
A few notes come to me
Like a refrain
Come suddenly
From the bottom of a caravan
So under my fingers
The smell of wood fire rises
I hear something like something
Half bohemian
Half Harlem
And over my heart pass
Joyful, these wonderful clouds
Similar to those
In the eyes
The children of the journey

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