Calendrier de Lavans des chansons engagées (30/24) - Saison 2 - "Masters of War"

Ce calendrier de Lavans des chansons engagées s'est trouvé être très francophone.

Ce n'est pas la faute à mon père: il m'a fait écouter Reinhard Mey, en allemand ("Grenze", "Die kinder von Izieu", "Die Waffen nieder") et en français (Tyrannie, Le politicien)...

Ce n'est pas la faute non plus de mon prof d'anglais, qui nous a invité à prendre les textes des chansons comme porte d'entrée vers la langue de Leonard Cohen.

Comme c'est son anniversaire aujourd'hui (pour 20 minutes encore), j'ai retenu une chanson de Bob Dylan, que j'avais un peu oublié l'an dernier dans mon calendrier. Si quelqu'un a besoin d'une traduction, qu'il me fasse signe...

Masters of war

Come you masters of war

You that build all the guns

You that build the death planes

You that build the big bombs

You that hide behind walls

You that hide behind desks

I just want you to know

I can see through your masks.

You that never done nothin'

But build to destroy

You play with my world

Like it's your little toy

You put a gun in my hand

And you hide from my eyes

And you turn and run farther

When the fast bullets fly.

Like Judas of old

You lie and deceive

A world war can be won

You want me to believe

But I see through your eyes

And I see through your brain

Like I see through the water

That runs down my drain.

You fasten the triggers

For the others to fire

Then you set back and watch

When the death count gets higher

You hide in your mansion'

As young people's blood

Flows out of their bodies

And is buried in the mud.

You've thrown the worst fear

That can ever be hurled

Fear to bring children

Into the world

For threatening my baby

Unborn and unnamed

You ain't worth the blood

That runs in your veins.

How much do I know

To talk out of turn

You might say that I'm young

You might say I'm unlearned

But there's one thing I know

Though I'm younger than you

That even Jesus would never

Forgive what you do.

Let me ask you one question

Is your money that good

Will it buy you forgiveness

Do you think that it could

I think you will find

When your death takes its toll

All the money you made

Will never buy back your soul.

And I hope that you die

And your death'll come soon

I will follow your casket

In the pale afternoon

And I'll watch while you're lowered

Down to your deathbed

And I'll stand over your grave

'Til I'm sure that you're dead.

La bise. Et bon anniversaire Christopher.

Ju.