La complainte de la Butte [English translation]

The Moon, too pallid*, places a diadem on your red hair

The Moon, too red, splatters with glory your underskirt full of holes

The Moon, too pale, caresses the opal of your jaded eyes

Street Princess, be welcomed in my broken heart.

Chorus:

The stairways up to La Butte**

can make the wretched sigh.

While windmill wings of the Moulin

shelter you and I.

Little beggar, I feel your little hand*** searching for mine

I feel your breast and your thin waist

I forget my chagrin

I feel your lips / a feverish smell of a malnourished child**** /

And under your caress I feel an exhilaration wipe me out me.

Chorus:

The stairways up to La Butte

can make the wretched sigh.

While windmill wings of the Moulin

shelter you and I.

The stairways of La Butte are hard on the destitute

The wings of The Windmill protect the lovers

And now she scampers about, the Moon floats along, the Princess as well... La da da da da da da da da...

Me dreams are blooming

The stairways of La Butte are hard on the destitute

The wings of The Windmill protect the lovers.