Le roi du café tabac [English translation]

The stairs creak all the more when he's been drinking

The building is from the last war, he lived

Her bed creaks and her table shakes

Everything is wrong in his room

But this is his room and this is his life.

He is the king of tobacco coffee, the king of tourist coffee

Every night you'll see him there at eight forty sharp.

His table is always reserved right against the record machine

Every evening until the last metro he waits then he comes home

Avenue Secrétant.

His friends are all twisted, screwed up

They have the sinister face of lost dogs

For love, they all share

A beauty that has passed the age

But it's theirs and it's their life.

He is the king of tobacco coffee, the king of tourist coffee

Every night you'll see him there at eight forty sharp.

He always looks reserved like the old ministers

Every evening, until the last metro, he waits, then he comes home

Avenue Secrétant.

Every day he vaults a little more, he loses his sight

Her heart is running out of steam and her lungs can't take it anymore

One evening under a porte-cochere

He will fall with his head back

It will be his death, it was his life.

He is the king of tobacco coffee, the king of tourist coffee

Every night you'll see him there at eight forty sharp.

His place is already reserved in the cemetery of sad pierrots

Every night he is there no matter what the weather

He is there, always alone, waiting

One evening, we will bring him back to his room with his feet in front

Secretant Avenue

• Artist:Serge Lama
• Album:La vie lilas (1975)