In Saint-Germain-des-prés, there are so many poets who have walked there,
That we say to ourselves that perhaps behind each window, their soul I'm still there,
Who watches so that it doesn't change.
The streets of Saint-Germain are filled with friends,
Who are there like in the happy days.
br/>From Flore to Deux Magots, from the drugstore to the metro,
They watch the lovers pass by.
I knew many who were my friends,
We lived like crazy people, we hung out all night,
We discovered jazz, I bought myself,
An old second-hand trombone and I played it.
The streets of Saint-Germain are full of friends,
Who are there as in the days of happy times.
From Flore to Deux Magots, from the drugstore to the metro,
They watch people go by the lovers.
Some are still there, we often see each other again,
Some have gone to other Champs-Elysées.
But turning the pages of the book of my life,
I always have their faces smiling at me.
The streets of Saint-Germain are filled with friends,
Who are there like in happy days.
From Flore to Deux Magots, from the drugstore to the metro,
They watch the lovers pass by.
The streets of Saint-germain are filled with friends,
Who are there as in the days of happy days.