An Autumn in Paris

To the friend who fell,
With a song on her lips,
Together we’ll sing,
Hand in hand.

To those who fell,
To those who cried,
Together we’ll stand,
Hand in hand.

To Paris, its quays, its mist,
The beach under its cobblestones,
The breeze that makes
Its dead leaves dance.

Paris, its walkers, its shadows,
Its cooing lovers,
Its public benches, its plane trees,
Its dead leaves.

Paris awakening at dawn,
Two black coffees with a terrace,
A gardener who’s harvesting
His dead leaves.

To the friend who fell,
With a song on her lips,
Together we’ll sing,
Hand in hand.

To those who fought
So that Paris might stay free,
So that Paris might still be Paris,
Head held high.

To the men who came
From all over the world
Their only hope being to live
With their heads held high.

To the women who suffered,
Humiliation and violence,
Because they dared to hold their
Heads high

To those who fell,
To those who cried,
Together we’ll stand,
Hand in hand.

We’ll recover the accents
Of the elders who are gone.
With their words mingled with ours,
We will sing.

“I have two loves"
“Sweet France"
“No, I regret nothing at all",
“Friend, do you hear," “Paname"
We will sing.

In the language of Racine,
Senghor, Apollinaire
Proust, Kateb Yacine,
We will sing.

To the friend who fell,
With a song on her lips,
Together we’ll sing,
Hand in hand.

To all of you who are keeping faith
In the dignity of mankind
In all the countries of the world
And forever.

The future belongs to you,
It will do you justice,
It will reflect what you are,
And forever.

You will see a resurgence
Of fanaticism, hatred,
Blindness, ignorance,
And forever.

To the friend who fell,
With a song on her lips,
Together we’ll sing,
Hand in hand.

To those who fell,
To those who cried,
Together we’ll stand
Hand in hand.

May terror never again
Come to stain our cities,
May hatred never ever
Stain our hearts.

May music live
In our streets as well as in our souls,
Forever like a testimony
Of liberty.

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