"Fast car" is kind of a continuation of Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run." It has all the clawing your way to a better life, but in this case the protagonist never makes it with her love; in fact she is dragged back down by him.
There is still an amazing amount of hope and will in the lyrics; and the lyrics themselve rank and easy five. If only music was stronger it would be one of those great radio songs that you hear once a week 20 years after it was released. The imagery is almost tear-jerking ("City lights lay out before us", "Speeds so fast felt like I was drunk"), and the idea of starting from nothing and just driving and working and denigrating yourself for a chance at being just above poverty, then losing in the end is just painful and inspiring at the same time.
Il pleut.
Les pépins, tristes compagnons,
Comme d'immenses champignons,
Sortent un par un des maisons.
Il pleut
Et toute la ville est mouillée.
Les maisons se sont enrhumées.
Les gouttières ont la goutte au nez.
Il pleut.
Comme dirigés par un appel,
Les oiseaux désertent le ciel.
Nuages et loups,
Les fenêtres, une larme à l'il
Semblent toutes porter le deuil
Des beaux jours.
Il pleut
Et l'on entend des clapotis.
La ville n'a plus d'harmonie.
Solitaires, les rues s'ennuient.
Il pleut
J'écoute,
Quand s'égoutte
La pluie qui me dégoûte
Sur les chemins des routes
Et, partout alentour,
Les gouttes
Qui s'en foutent
Ne savent pas sans doute
Que mon cœur en déroute
A perdu son amour
Il pleut.
Les pépins, tristes compagnons,
Comme d'immenses champignons,
Sortent un par un des maisons.
Il pleut
Et toute la ville est mouillée.
Les maisons se sont enrhumées.
Les gouttières ont la goutte au nez.
Il pleut.
La nature est chargée d'ennui.
Là-haut, tout est vêtu de gris.
Le ciel est boudeur.
Le nez aplati au carreau,
J'attends, laissant couler le flot de mes pleurs.
Il pleur.
Dans mon cœur aux rêves perdus,
Sur mon amour comme dans la rue
Et sur mes peines sans issue,
Il pleut
Les pépins, tristes compagnons,
Comme d'immenses champignons,
Sortent un par un des maisons.
Il pleut
Et toute la ville est mouillée.
Les maisons se sont enrhumées.
Les gouttières ont la goutte au nez.
Il pleut.
Comme dirigés par un appel,
Les oiseaux désertent le ciel.
Nuages et loups,
Les fenêtres, une larme à l'il
Semblent toutes porter le deuil
Des beaux jours.
Il pleut
Et l'on entend des clapotis.
La ville n'a plus d'harmonie.
Solitaires, les rues s'ennuient.
Il pleut
J'écoute,
Quand s'égoutte
La pluie qui me dégoûte
Sur les chemins des routes
Et, partout alentour,
Les gouttes
Qui s'en foutent
Ne savent pas sans doute
Que mon cœur en déroute
A perdu son amour
Il pleut.
Les pépins, tristes compagnons,
Comme d'immenses champignons,
Sortent un par un des maisons.
Il pleut
Et toute la ville est mouillée.
Les maisons se sont enrhumées.
Les gouttières ont la goutte au nez.
Il pleut.
La nature est chargée d'ennui.
Là-haut, tout est vêtu de gris.
Le ciel est boudeur.
Le nez aplati au carreau,
J'attends, laissant couler le flot de mes pleurs.
Il pleur.
Dans mon cœur aux rêves perdus,
Sur mon amour comme dans la rue
Et sur mes peines sans issue,
Il pleut
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