Rufus Wainwright - La Complainte de la Butte lyrics

La lune trop bleme pose un diademe sur tes cheveux roux La lune trop rousse de gloire eclabousse ton jupon plein d'trous La lune trop pale caresse l'opale de tes yeux blases Princesse de la rue soit la bienvenue dans mon coeur brise Chorus: The stairways up to la bu*te Can make the wreched sigh While windmill wings of the moulin shelter you and I Original Song: [Les escaliers de la bu*te sont durs aux misereux Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux] Petite mandigotte je sens ta menotte qui cherche ma main Je sens ta poitrine et ta taille fine J'oublie mon chagrin Je sens sur tes levres une odeur de fievre de gosse mal nourri Et sous ta caresse je sens une ivresse qui m'aneantit Chorus: The stairways up to la bu*te Can make the wreched sigh While windmill wings of the moulin shelter you and I Original Song: [Les escaliers de la bu*te sont durs aux misereux Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux] Et voila qu'elle trotte la lune qui flotte, la princesse aussi La da da da da da da da da da Mes reves epanouis Les escaliers de la bu*te sont durs aux misereux Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux English Translation: The moon, all too fair, in your russet-red hair sets a sparkling crown The moon, all too red with glory, is spread on your poor, tattered gown The moon, all too white, caresses the light in your world-weary eyes Princess of the street, do allow me to greet you, my broken heart cries The steps of Montmartre, all uphill, are hardest on the poor The sails of the mill, like wings, shelter all paramours I feel, beggar-girl, your fetters, they curl as they seek out my wrists I feel your young breasts, your thin little waist I lose my regrets I taste on your mouth the feverish breath of a half-starving waif And with your caress I sense drunkenness erasing my life The steps of Montmartre, all uphill, are hardest on the poor The sails of the mill, like wings, shelter all paramours And see how she skips, the moon how she drifts, The princess in tow Da da da da da da da da da da My reveries grow The steps of Montmartre, all uphill, are hardest on the poor The sails of the mill, like wings, shelter all paramours