LES FENETRES by Jacques Brel

The windows look in
As if waiting for our deaths
As if our final breaths
Were awaited by the world
The windows laugh at us
When they see how we behave
When they see what we believe
When they hear the words we hurl
The windows cry
In the dawn’s phlegmatic light
For the dead who lie
In the old cemetery
But the windows curse and frown
And wish they could pull down
Or somehow see around
The great oak tree

The windows mutter to themselves
When the afternoons bring rain
That beats against the pane
Forming streams upon the glass
The windows sing aloud
When autumn comes aggrieved
Blowing dead and fallen leaves
Down the street where people pass
The windows stay closed tight
When the frosts of winter bite
And the snow lies thick and white
On the parapet and frame
But they open wide once more
When the girls pass by the door
Just like they used to do before
The bitter winter came

The windows watch over
The child we used to hold
Who, encircled by the old,
Takes his first few steps
The windows smile
When at fifteen years of age
As if freed from a cage
The child seeks adult depths
But the windows scowl and seethe
The windows threaten me
When with audacity
I frankly speak my mind
The windows follow me
All I do they see
I’ve no way to break free
From my home’s all-seeing eyes