L'assassin est toujours le jardinier [English translation]

Midnight strikes at Darkmoor Castle,

Sir John1 is reading the obituaries.

You can hear the owls in the tower,

The servants have all left.

A door creaks and in a single leap,

A shadow pounces on Sir John,

And Sir John breathes his last, suddenly caught all unawares,

Taking with him his horrible secret:

The assassin was the gardener,

Who is savouring a new crime.

The assassin is always the gardener,

Who neglects his lilacs,2 bluebottles, and forget-me-nots

So he can seek out a victim.

Second office3, third floor,

An elevator is stuck.

The secret agent is at the beach,

At Saint Trop',4 on a paid vacation.

But in bringing the elevator cage back up,

The mechanic discovered, to his horror,

The secret agent slumped in a dark corner

Instead of catching some rays on the Côte d'Azur.

The assassin was the gardener,

Who is savouring a new crime.

The assassin is always the gardener,

Who neglects his lilacs, bluebottles, and forget-me-nots

So he can seek out a victim.

The other night, the keeper of the lighthouse

Was pushed into the harbour.

They suspect the stationmaster,

Whose wife was having an affair with the dead man.

Otherwise, the boss lady of the Sélect Night Club,

With her big feet, is no less a suspect,

As is her cross-eyed son-in-law who drinks,

Or the British sailor whose brother is Chinese.5

The assassin was the gardener,

Who is savouring a new crime.

The assassin is always the gardener,

Who neglects his lilacs, bluebottles, and forget-me-nots

So he can seek out a victim.

The heir to the Lemaître cracker empire

Lives on the twenty-second floor.

He sleeps without closing his window,

And we'll see that this really is too bad.

As a breath of air has just billowed the curtains,

A shiny gun barrel is poking him in the back.

The window is open but the door is locked

And the Lemaître cracker empire no longer has an heir.

The assassin was the gardener,

Who is savouring a new crime.

The assassin is always the gardener,

Who neglects his lilacs, bluebottles, and forget-me-nots

So he can seek out a victim.

A man with an honest face,

Wearing an old green apron,

Is preparing insecticides

At the back of the garden, in his greenhouse.

Afterwards, while whistling almost inaudibly, he sharpens

His enormous pruning shears that are spattered with blood.

It was while grafting his roses that he injured himself yesterday

And that's how the murdering hand is itself strangled!

The assassin was the cook,

And the moral of this ditty:

Always beware of cooks,

Of ground beef,

Of preconceived notions,

Of the moral, and of prejudices.6

1. I had no trouble translating this.2. I didn't have to look this one up but I did have to look up the other two, since I am in no way whatsoever a gardener, and therefore I am far, far above suspicion.3. I know "bureau" to mean office, but it seems to me it means "office building" here, a usage I have not encountered. Am I right? Do I need to change this?4. I know this is a contraction of Saint Tropez because I am so urbane, cosmopolitan, suave, and debonair. But he contracted Saint Tropez in French (I hope he recovers) so I did the same in English.5. At least the son-in-law isn't related to either the sailor or his Chinese brother. That should simplify things considerably for les agents de la gendarmerie.6. And of smart-ass translators who fancy themselves comedians.

• Artist:Reinhard Mey
• Album:Récital Frédérik Mey à l'Olympia (1976)