SUR LA PLACE by Jacques Brel

In the square, in the baking sun
A dark eyed girl began to dance
And it seemed to me it was the dance
Of the dancers of antiquity
In the old town's sweltering heat
Drowsy men and women stare
Through open shuttered windows at
This girl dancing at mid-day there

Sometimes on such sacred days
A flame burns brightly in our eyes
In the church where I once went
They told me that this was our God
But the lover calls it love
The beggar charity
The sun calls it the day
And the good man sympathy

In the square, in the shimmering air
Where not even a dog appears
Suddenly I see her there
The girl who comes as if from nowhere
Without guitar or tambourine
To accompany her steps
She simply claps her painted hands
To give rhythm to her dance

Sometimes on such sacred days
A flame burns brightly in our eyes
In the church where I once went
They told me that this was our God
But the lover calls it love
The beggar charity
The sun calls it the day
And the good man sympathy

In the square, in the burning silence
A dark eyed girl began to sing
The song she sang filled the square
A hymn of love and kindness
But the day is turning hotter still
And no one wants to hear her sing
The men close all the windows fast
Like doors between the dead and living

And sometimes on such sacred days
A flame burns brightly deep inside
Yet we never see its rays
Cursed to live without its light
We place our hands against our ears
Turn our eyes towards the dark
We fear to watch the clocks
Of our already aged hearts

In the square a dog is howling
The dark eyed girl I cannot see
It seems to me it howls in dying
Crying out our destiny

~ Jacques Brel ~