Il pleut [English translation]

It's raining.

The umbrellas, sad companions

Like overgrown mushrooms,

Come one by one out of the houses.

It's raining.

And the whole city is soaked.

The houses have caught cold.

The gutters have runny noses.

It's raining

As if they've been commanded to,

The birds desert the sky.

Clouds and wolves,

The windows, a tear in the eye:

They all seem to wear mourning clothes

For beautiful days.

It's raining.

And we hear the splashes.

The city no longer has harmony.

All alone, the streets get bored.

It's raining. . .

I listen,

When drips

The rain which disgusts me

On the roadways

And, almost all around

The drops,

Which don't care,

Without a doubt, don't know

That my defeated heart

Has lost its love. . .

It's raining.

The umbrellas, sad companions

Like overgrown mushrooms,

Come one by one out of the houses.

It's raining.

And the whole city is soaked.

The houses have caught cold.

The gutters have runny noses.

It's raining.

Nature is filled with ennui.

Up there, everything is dressed in grey.

The sky is sullen.

Nose flattened in a handkerchief,

I wait, letting the flood of my tears flow.

It's raining.

In my heart full of lost dreams,

On my love, just like on the streets,

And on my endless sorrows,

It's raining. . .