Song: L'histoire D'une Heure
Artist: Thomas Fersen
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This is the story of an hour
Lost on the dock of flowers,
An hour to dream
Of missing objects found
An hour to wait for you
To watch the sale of
Some cut flowers
Some May flowers
This is the story of an hour
Complacently lost
An hour to dream
Of your arrival
An hour in the street
To hang around
To pace up and down
And some entrechats*
What a funny ballet
My little game
Intrigues the chickens
On the goldsmith's dock
A blaring whistle,
A pair of bracelets,
And under lock and key,
A crazy story:
"This is the story of an hour, gentlemen,
I'll explain to you
This is the story of an hour
Of being lost on the dock."
It's the story of a night
Lost in a hole
To make confessions
The violets in the eyes
They're looking for a killer
And me, the dear saint
My fate is sublime
I've lost the hour of the crime
Whoever finds themselves
An hour ahead,
Waiting an hour,
Will really want to give it back to me
This is the story of an hour
Lost on the dock of flowers,
An hour to dream
Of missing objects found
And in my prison
I sing my song
Of my lost hours**
That I no longer count
*This is a dance step where one jumps into the air and clicks one's heels.
**Double meaning. Of my lost hours, or in my spare time.
This is the story of an hour
Lost on the dock of flowers,
An hour to dream
Of missing objects found
An hour to wait for you
To watch the sale of
Some cut flowers
Some May flowers
This is the story of an hour
Complacently lost
An hour to dream
Of your arrival
An hour in the street
To hang around
To pace up and down
And some entrechats*
What a funny ballet
My little game
Intrigues the chickens
On the goldsmith's dock
A blaring whistle,
A pair of bracelets,
And under lock and key,
A crazy story:
"This is the story of an hour, gentlemen,
I'll explain to you
This is the story of an hour
Of being lost on the dock."
It's the story of a night
Lost in a hole
To make confessions
The violets in the eyes
They're looking for a killer
And me, the dear saint
My fate is sublime
I've lost the hour of the crime
Whoever finds themselves
An hour ahead,
Waiting an hour,
Will really want to give it back to me
This is the story of an hour
Lost on the dock of flowers,
An hour to dream
Of missing objects found
And in my prison
I sing my song
Of my lost hours**
That I no longer count
*This is a dance step where one jumps into the air and clicks one's heels.
**Double meaning. Of my lost hours, or in my spare time.