Lueurs Lyrics in English Gaël Faye

Below, I translated the lyrics of the song Lueurs by Gaël Faye from French to English.
Turn off the lights, I'm here to sing my pogos
On the rails of hell, the ocean is Congo
Long before I die, my rhymes and verses devour me
I lock the world inside my body
Until the words overflow
Turn flesh into verb, pain into weapon, shadow into light
I've crossed seas, I've cried rivers
You'll end up alone and beaten in your impure-blood delusions
And the hate foaming from your mouths won't grip our lives anymore
History purrs then stalls, and the holds
Chained in ships made of a wood from a tree
Where strange fruits are hung, distilled and crushed
Corpses piled up, shovelfuls of mass graves
Watch the exoduses, butterflies fly and sail
Look how God slips away before mankind
How he cries in tornadoes over our ruins and wars
How every evening he cries an incendiary sun
I can't breathe anymore
Their knees on my neck, their license to kill
Reality is violent like a jungle in Calais
A Congo-ocean, so many wrongs to wash away
I wipe the spit, I tear Banania smiles off France's walls
And the children to come will be proud and standing
Standing, proud, proud and standing
I know the cuts, the notches in our hearts
If their darkness assails me, I'll go sing my gleams
Invincible is our ardor
The blaze of our stubborn lives
Invincible is our ardor
Will dazzle your insides
Invincible is our ardor
The blaze of our stubborn lives
Invincible is our ardor
Will dazzle your insides
Did you like these lyrics?
SONG MEANING

Turn off the lights, crank up the volume, and step into Gaël Faye’s blazing universe. “Lueurs” paints a cinematic journey that starts on the “rails of hell” and sails across an ocean that feels as heavy as the Congo’s colonial past. With rapid-fire poetry, Faye compresses centuries of oppression into vivid snapshots: chained hulls, “strange fruit” swinging from trees, knees pressed on necks, and racist smiles peeling off French walls. The song’s torrent of images—boats, exodus, riots, tornados of tears—reminds us how history keeps echoing in the present, how violence can feel as suffocating as a jungle in Calais.

Yet the chorus erupts like a flare in the night: “Invincible is our ardor.” Faye flips pain into power, shadow into lueurs—glimmers of stubborn hope. He promises that new generations will stand tall, that their inner fire will dazzle every darkness staring them down. By the final beat, “Lueurs” is not just a protest, it’s a rallying cry: a reminder that words can weaponize dignity, that even in the deepest gloom, bright sparks keep breaking free.

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