The too pale moon pose a tiara on your reddish-brown hair
the moon too turns brown
glory splashes your slip a lot of holes
the too pale moon stroke the opal of your unexcited eyes
princesses of the street be the welcome in my injured heart

The stairways up to the mound
it can make the wretched sigh
Whille windmill of the moulin
shelter you and I

Small mandigotte I feel your handcuff that looks for my hand
I feel your chest and your fine size
I forget my sorrow
I feel on your lips a fever odor of childlike one poorly nourished
and under your stroke I feel a drunkenness that me annihilated

The stairways up to the mound
Can make the wretched sigh
Whille windmill wings of the Mill
Shelter you and I

But here that it trots the moon floats
itself the princess also
under the sky without moon
I cry to the mist
my fainted dream

The stairways up to the mound
are hard to the destitute
one the wings of the mills
protect the lovers

-complainte de la butte