When the poet died,
When the poet died,
All his friends,
All his friends,
All his friends cried.

When Poete died,
When the poet died,
The whole world,
The whole world,
The whole world cried.

One burned his star,
One burned his star,
In a large field,
In a large field,
In a large corn field.

And it is for that one finds,
And it is for that one finds,
In this large field,
In this large field,
In this large field of corn-flowers.






Gilbert Bécaud