I grew a string of songs in your streets
For centuries, with a bare voice, I had been earning my living? my way
One day you had a funny idea, you ringed? your troubadours
From now on you need a sort of residence permit to sing
{Chorus:}
Paris, I am the bird without a feather
The one who has the goosebumps
Because he is afraid, because he has a cold
But who harangues, harangues the crowds
You betrayed me and plucked? lark, nice lark
You didn't leave me? than my down as I throw myself into the storm
I see my feathers on your hats and I imagine them in your ass
I know them on your feather dusters and I no longer recognize you
{in the Chorus}
You who let me flap my wings, throw poor sword blows into the water
Take a few glances at the sky and find it much too high
Maybe you nailed me? to the ground but you won't shut me up
My voice slips and flies away even if it's snapping
{to the chorus}

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