Levi the Poet — Paroles et traduction des paroles de la chanson Dear Pianist
La page contient les paroles et la traduction française de la chanson « Dear Pianist » de Levi the Poet.
Paroles
I prayed and prayed for a salve that would heal the pain in my heart,
and once the wound was held together,
I pulled the stitching apart.
It’s like the Lord answered all of my prayers,
and now I want my questions back,
and search for ways to spite his grace, and get my old gods back.
Dear, I can’t pretend that I didn’t thrive off of the emptiness I felt inside
before the spirit invaded the void,
just like I asked him to,
and shared with all of you.
I stepped out the front door and tossed up my keys to find myself in a closet
stuffed with all of my insecurities,
and all of the things that I’m ashamed of,
and every broken memory that I keep to cut my wrists — and be it vain or be it
pity,
well I know that I still bleed,
and I keep the shards of mirrored glass to see my expression as I seep out onto
the carpet and stain my bare feet in a puddle that I’ll drown in eight quarts
deep.
When I was a boy, my daddy told me to unclench my fists — hold out my hands
(like this) — and pray — like a picture of letting the Lord take your fears
away.
But he forgot to loosen his grip when it came time to practice it,
and the thought got convoluted the day he went away.
Jesus! If you see this, I hope I see him again someday.
I drove alone along the western coast to write a poem somebody could relate to.
I reopened every wound and bled myself dry just to try to feel the same way
that I used to.
I drove past the city at night, with the windows down, to watch the lights —
and be so cold that I’m uncomfortable: you know I do it to myself.
These headphones could be playing something else, but ‘we're at the bottom of
everything' like the songwriter sings,
and I make myself shiver until I believe it.
I know every word to every song about despair,
and I keep the album on repeat to keep me there."
She hit the first note and then that note set me free.
Well, I fell in love with her sadness before she fell in love with me,
but the best letters are those written in tears that smear the ink,
so she played the keys and I started writing.
«I wrapped that sorrow up tight,
like a noose around my neck,
stood tall on a flimsy card table,
and kicked it out from underneath my legs.
And I’ve been hanging in a house of cards for months on end,
swinging back and forth beneath a creaking rafter at the wind’s every whim.
I always ‘forgot' to close the windows so that I could let in the cold,
knowing discomfort and disappointment were the only peace I’d ever known.
I’ve got excuse upon excuse for every broken bone,
but in the end,
I broke them all myself to give the pain a home.
Dear Pianist,
I love you more than you’ll ever know.
I swear your smile saved my life.
I swear your touch made me whole.
But there is not an end to the self-condemning lies that I have believed,
and there is no depth that I have not known in attempts to drown myself (or:
set myself free) — to the point of pushing you away from me.
I drove the country on my own in an attempt to break my heart,
and I’ve opened my heart to every fleeting hope in an attempt to fall apart."
She said, «we fall apart and into our gods, but God meets us where we are!
(and) Oh what a thought!
(To live a life that’s free!)
But we are such a self-destructive bunch, aren’t we?
Writer, you are a part of me and there is nothing you can do to set to flame
the fabric that has woven me to you.
I will not be your broken heart and I will not be your empty oath,
o! with our hands laid flat in surrender I swear we will both let go of the
chains that choke us,
that wrap their hands around our throats,
and I will play you a new song and the lyrics that you wrote will accompany the
melody»
and every word she spoke was a land of milk and honey that I thought I’d never
know.
I drove to Washington on my own to sorrow in the rain,
but we danced over every puddle,
and joy washed the pain away,
and it rode the gutters into the ocean,
and the currents out beyond it’s shores,
to a whisper beyond the horizon,
to be forgotten and thought of no more.
Traduction des paroles
Eh bien, je suis tombé amoureux de sa tristesse avant qu'elle ne tombe amoureuse de moi,
mais les meilleures lettres sont celles écrites en larmes qui enduisent l'encre,
alors elle a joué les clés et j'ai commencé à écrire.
«J'ai enveloppé que la tristesse serré,
comme un nœud coulant autour de mon cou,
debout sur une table de carte fragile,
et donné un coup de pied sous mes jambes.
Et j'ai été suspendu dans un château de cartes pendant des mois,
balancer d'avant en arrière sous un chevron grinçant au vent est tous les caprices.
J'ai toujours "oublié" de fermer les fenêtres pour que je puisse laisser entrer le froid,
savoir l'inconfort et la déception étaient la seule paix que j'avais jamais connue.
J'ai des excuses pour chaque os cassé,
mais en fin de compte,
Je les ai tous brisés moi-même pour donner à la douleur une maison.
Chers Pianiste,
Je vous aime plus que vous ne pourrez jamais savoir.
Je jure que ton sourire m'a sauvé la vie.
Je vous jure que votre contact m'a rendu entier.
Mais il n'y a pas de fin aux mensonges auto-condamnables que j'ai cru,
et il n'y a pas de profondeur que je n'ai pas connue dans les tentatives de me noyer (ou:
me libérer) - au point de vous éloigner de moi.
J'ai conduit le pays tout seul pour tenter de me briser le cœur,
et j'ai ouvert mon cœur à chaque espoir éphémère dans une tentative de s'effondrer."
Elle a dit: "nous tombons en morceaux et en nos dieux, mais Dieu nous rencontre là où nous sommes!
(et) Oh quelle pensée!
(Pour vivre une vie qui est libre!)
Mais nous sommes tellement autodestructeurs, n'est-ce pas?
Écrivain, vous êtes une partie de moi et il n'y a rien que vous pouvez faire pour mettre à la flamme
le tissu qui m'a tissé pour vous.
Je ne serai pas ton cœur brisé et je ne serai pas ton serment vide,
o! avec nos mains posées à plat dans la reddition je jure que nous allons tous les deux laisser aller de la
des chaînes qui nous étouffent,
qui enveloppent leurs mains autour de nos gorges,
et je vais vous jouer une nouvelle chanson et les paroles que vous avez écrites accompagneront le
mélodie»
et chaque mot qu'elle parlait était une terre de lait et de miel que je pensais ne jamais avoir
savoir.