Mon père - Sylvie Vartan

Que la maison me parait vide, sans son dsordre et sans sa voix

a me semble encore impossible pourtant il y a deux ans dj Ma mre a rang tous ses livres et ses outils de jardinier

Tous ces objets qu’il faisait vivre qui eux aussi vont s’ennuyer

Il ne parlait pas de la guerre, pourtant mon hros c’tait lui

J’tais si fire qu’il soit mon pre, fire de m’appeler comme lui

Ses colres taient des temptes lorsque j’avais dsobI

Et puis il pleurait en cachette parce que j’avais un premier prix

C’tait plus que de la tendresse qu’il avait pour tous nos rosiers

Il peignait avec maladresse, c’tait toujours moi qui posais

Je sais bien que je lui ressemble, je suis ttue comme il l’tait

J’ai ses yeux et ses cts tendres, et j’aime tout ce qu’il aimait

C’tait mon ami et mon frre et tous mes souvenirs d’enfant

C’tait mon ami et mon pre et il me manque bien souvent.

That the house seems empty to me, without its mess and without its voice

It still seems impossible to me, yet two years ago my mother put away all her books and her gardening tools.

All these objects that he brought to life that will also be bored

He didn't talk about the war, yet my hero was him

I was so fire that he was my father, fire to call me after him

His angers were storms when I had disobeyed

And then he was crying on the sly because I had a first prize

It was more than tenderness he had for all our rose bushes

He painted clumsily, it was always me posing

I know I look like him, I'm stubborn like he was

I have his eyes and his tender sides, and I love everything he loved

He was my friend and my brother and all my childhood memories

He was my friend and my father and I often miss him.