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The memories
Are a bit like these trips
That we make alone and without sharing
Through the years, through the ages
The memories
Which express themselves loudly and haunt us
And pursue us and torment us
Talking about our crazy loves
The memories
Which in the depths of our thoughts watch
And which at times wake up
Rekindling in us wonders
The memories
Of this rich and crazy time
Tinged with humor that in life
We reveal with nostalgia
At the age when childhood returns
With counted steps, stooped by age
At the age when the word tomorrow
No longer has this wild strength
That once defied fate
At the time when everything sings or breaks down
The memories remain nailed
And when in our hearts they are planted
Nothing can chase them away
Nothing can chase them away
The memories
Are these incredible images
That little by little have been shipwrecked
In the troubled waters of another age
The memories
They hurt us or caress us
They obsess us and do not stop
To awaken the youth
The memories
Are the gifts of a memory
That tell us stories
Made of pink or black days
The memories
Years of risks and setbacks
Disappointed hopes or days of glory
Of failed loves or victories
At the age when childhood returns
With counted steps, stooped by age
At the age when the word tomorrow
No longer has this wild strength
That once defied fate
At the time when everything sings or breaks down
The memories remain nailed
And when in our hearts they are planted
Nothing can chase them away
Nothing can chase them away
I want to sit outside my door
Watching the years go by
And let them come in cohorts
These things that seemed dead to me
And they live again with time
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