La bohemia [English translation]

Bohemian of Paris,

happy, crazy and gloomy,

of a time now gone by

where in a loft,

with a Can-Can costume

you would pose for me.

And I, with devotion,

painted with passion

your weary body

until the break of dawn,

sometimes without eating

and always without sleep.

The bohemian, the bohemian,

she was love, happiness

The bohemian, the bohemian

was a flower of our era.

Under an oil lamp,

the coffee table

happily brought us together

talking incessantly,

dreaming about reaching

to get the glory.

And when some painter

found a buyer

and sold him a canvas,

we used to shout

with him and stroll

cheerfully through Paris.

The bohemian, the bohemian

was playful, I saw you and loved you.

The bohemian, the bohemian,

With you I can succeed.

We had good health,

a smile, youth,

and nothing in our pockets.

Despite cold, despite heat,

the same good humor,

we danced in our thirst.

Always struggling equally

with hunger until the end.

We would make castles,

and the desire to live

would make us endure

and not falter.

The bohemian, the bohemian

was to watch the sunrise.

The bohemian, the bohemian

was to dream with a desire.

Today I returned to Paris,

I crossed its gray fog,

I found it had changed.

The lilacs are no longer there,

nor do they climb to the loft

purple with passion.

Dreaming like it was yesterday

I wandered by my studio,

most of it demolished now

and they have put in its place

downstairs a cafe bar

and upstairs a guest house .

The bohemian, the bohemian that

I lived through, she lost her light.

The bohemian, the bohemian

was a flower and finally died...