What remains of those beautiful days?

A photo, an old photo

Of my youth

What remains of the love letters

Of April months, of rendez-vous

A memory that follows me

Incessantly

Faded happiness, hair in the wind

Stolen kisses, changing dreams

What remains of all that?

Tell me

A little village, an old steeple

A landscape so well hidden

And in a cloud the dear face

Of my past

A little village, an old steeple

A landscape so well hidden

And in a cloud the dear face

Of my past