He is so beautiful and so fragile
Under his armor of rain
Which breaks under my remarks
When I make fun of him
His opinion changes as time passes
I'm in a hurry, my knight
He doesn't really like his work
He says that people take him for an idiot
That every time he wakes up rings
He would like to change the tempo
But it is too late
He is already in the metro, my knight
My junk knight
My little scoundrel
Who sees himself handsome in the eyes of girls
But don't look at me
My knight gone to war
Against windmills
Don Quixote is thirty years old
But he is still a child my knight
But he is still a child my knight
But he is still a child my knight
But he is still a child my knight
He doesn't really like reading books
But he likes Michel Houellebecq
He doesn't like French cinema
L'pré enjoys porn on the Internet
When we made love
He was the light, my knight
He told me that at 30 years old
He still feels young
To have children
That maybe it's not the time
I ask him if he loves me
He doesn't want to hire, my knight
My shoddy knight
My little villain
Who sees himself handsome in the eyes of girls
But don't look at me
My knight gone to war
Against windmills
Don Quixote is thirty years old
But he is still a child my knight
But he is still a child my knight
But he is still a child my knight
But he is still a child my knight