Dalles translates to "slabs" or "flagstones". While it might seem like a simple word, its appearance in the lyrics is quite striking and creates a vivid, somewhat melancholic image.
In the song, Benjamin Biolay sings, "Trois flocons sur le bassin / Puis la neige sur les dalles" (Three snowflakes on the pond / Then the snow on the flagstones). This imagery evokes a sense of fleeting beauty and the passage of time, as the delicate snowflakes eventually cover the cold, hard flagstones. It's a word that grounds the abstract reflections on life and time with a concrete, evocative scene, making it memorable and unique in this context.
Benjamin Biolay builds this one around a single image: the wheel that keeps turning, whether you like where it's taking you or not. He opens by admitting he's given up trying to understand anything, "De moins en moins je pense, car je n'en sais plus rien" (Less and less I think, because I no longer know anything), and the less he knows, the less he even bothers to shout about it. That resignation isn't defeat. It loops right into the chorus like a shrug: "La roue tourne, la roue tourne, la roue tourne bien" (The wheel turns, the wheel turns, the wheel turns well).
The wheel shows up everywhere once he starts looking for it: on trains, on beaches, in the satellites he warns you about, "Prends garde aux satellites, ils tournent, tournent, tournent en vain" (Watch out for the satellites, they turn, turn, turn in vain). Getting older just means it spins faster, "Plus on sait, on sait qu'on ne sait rien" (The more we know, the more we know we know nothing). By the last chorus he's done explaining himself, "Inutile de te faire un dessin, une chanson, c'est bien" (No need to draw you a picture, a song will do), and lets the whole thing fade out on nothing but the wheel's own hum, "na, na, na."