The only security,
the rooting of my doubts,
becomes strong when you go away,
whether you believe it or doubt it.

I would be happy to be again
the child who played,
unthinking, in the middle of the street,
of my street so long ago.

The street where we all played,
the smallest and the biggest;
the street of earth and dust,
which was Blanc street.

I need love
by my side every day,
to know you pay attention to me
and that I won't lose you when I sing.

May the daily task
of finding the words
say clearly and precisely
what I feel together with the others,

I don't want to be broken
by the joy of having found you
one day many years ago
in the dirty flat city.

October brings me memories
that hurt if I am alone;
time constantly eats away at
the best longings of the heart.

As whenever you go to the place
where they made you possible,
I am writing you a song
which is, perhaps, incomprehensible.

The only security,
the rooting of my doubts,
becomes strong when you go away,
whether you believe it or doubt it.