In the peaceful village
De Lac-aux-Bottes
There where now
Everyone walks around barefoot
The ancestors still talk
Of this wacky legend
Who says they were once
Taunted and humiliated
The most talkative of them
It was the old man Lavar
By cursing the Bootmaker
The one who had ruined him
He had lost a toe
By landing a kick
Directly on the edge
From his trawler
In the dark valley where everyone's feet hurt
No one wants to hear anymore
Of a boot at the end of his hook
Much less tender than good flesh in the mouth
The moon awakens
High in the sky
And chases away the souls
Which wander on the waters...
A wandering man
Spirit of a sweet euphoria
Frees boredom from his thoughts
To bring back to life the legend
Lavar, the old disbeliever
Sneaky and evil
Cutting his coins
In order to double his money
Vit a merchant caravan
The driver of which collapsed
Lavar said to himself “Tabarnak!”
And joined the merchant
The latter asked Lavar
To buy symbolically
The hard fruit of his labor
To pay the smuggler
Believing he was getting a good deal
He rushed on the cargo
His blood boiling with hope
He opened the caravan
But in the merchant wagon
There were only boots
The crook was gone
And his money too