Ma chambre a la forme d'une cage,
le soleil passe son bras par la fenêtre.
Les chasseurs à ma porte
comme les petits soldats
qui veulent me prendre.
Je ne veux pas travailler,
je ne veux pas déjeuner,
je veux seulement l'oublier et puis je fume...
Déjà j'ai connu le parfum de l'amour,
un million de roses n'embaumerait pas autant.
Maintenant une seule fleur
dans mes entourages
me rend malade.
Je ne veux pas travailler,
je ne veux pas déjeuner,
je veux seulement l'oublier et puis je fume...
Je ne suis pas fière de ça,
cette vie qui veut me tuer.
C'est magnifique, être sympathique,
mais je ne le connais jamais.
Je ne veux pas travailler,
je ne veux pas déjeuner,
je veux seulement l'oublier et puis je fume...
le soleil passe son bras par la fenêtre.
Les chasseurs à ma porte
comme les petits soldats
qui veulent me prendre.
Je ne veux pas travailler,
je ne veux pas déjeuner,
je veux seulement l'oublier et puis je fume...
Déjà j'ai connu le parfum de l'amour,
un million de roses n'embaumerait pas autant.
Maintenant une seule fleur
dans mes entourages
me rend malade.
Je ne veux pas travailler,
je ne veux pas déjeuner,
je veux seulement l'oublier et puis je fume...
Je ne suis pas fière de ça,
cette vie qui veut me tuer.
C'est magnifique, être sympathique,
mais je ne le connais jamais.
Je ne veux pas travailler,
je ne veux pas déjeuner,
je veux seulement l'oublier et puis je fume...
Lyrics submitted by dragonflower44
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I think she HAS enjoyed true intimacy and is now tortured by its absence. I also think it's a bit of a stretch to assume she's selling her body just because she doesn't want to go to work, or isn't proud of her life. I hate coming to work daily, but because I feel like I've sold my soul... not my body. ;)
My room is a cage
The sun streams through the window,
the bellhops are at my door
like those little soldiers
who want to take me away.
I don't want to work,
I don't want to lunch
I only want to forget and so I smoke.
Long ago I knew the smell of love,
a million roses didn't smell as sweet.
Now a single flower in my way makes me sick.
Chorus
I am not proud if this life
that wants to kill me.
It's magnificent to be sympatico
but I have never known this.
Chorus
this song is fantastic
btw someone used this song as a background song to a video showing zidane's infamous headbutt on materrazzi. it was on youtube then, not sure if it's still there though.
"Etre" is the correct lyric, not "et tres". Thus, it means "It is wonderful to be nice/likable, but I have never known it." (ie: she has never known what it's like to be nice or sweet).
Also, the translation "The sun streams through the window" doesn't fully capture the poetic intentions of that lyric. A better translation would be "The sun passes his arm by the window".
Now that we know what it says, let's talk about what it means.
Think about these points and what it says about what kind of a woman she must be. . .
1) The scent of roses, which represent love, has been tainted to her and now makes her sick. (She clearly has negative associations with love. She is unable to enjoy true intimacy. . .perhaps because of negative experiences related to intimacy?)
2) She doesn't see her self as nice, sweet, or refined (all acceptable translations of 'sympathique').
3) Her reflections on the fact that her lifestyle is going to kill her. She's clearly not proud of what she's doing.
4) She doesn't want to 'work'. What line of work do you suppose she's in that makes her disgusted with her self?
5) She just wants to forget about work and smoke. (Smoking...what one does after sex)
5)Her bedroom, like a cage.
6) The men, like hunters, want to take her.
C'mon folks. It's so clear -- she's a prostitute!
Have any of you ever been to a Pink Martini concert? (If not, I would highly recommend doing so)
If you had been to one of their concerts, you would have heard Thomas Lauderdale (the guy who wrote the song) explain that he and China Forbes (the lady who sings the song) were in a hotel bar in Portland, Oregon and overheard two French-speaking Canadians (who he assumed were in Oregon as loggers) having this conversation. They "poemed" it up a bit, but he claims that this was the gist of their conversation.
It was a conversation between two men about being frustrated with work, lost love (or lovers) and life in general -- so they were at the point at which all they wanted to do was smoke and forget about everything else.