Héxagone Lyrics in English Renaud
Below, I translated the lyrics of the song Héxagone by Renaud from French to English.
They kiss in January
Because a new year begins
But for ages
France hasn't changed much
Days and weeks go by
Only the scenery evolves
The mentality is the same
All losers, all fake asses
They're not heavy, in February
Remembering Charonne
The sworn batons
Who polished their work
France is a country of cops
On every street corner, there are a hundred
To maintain public order
They kill with impunity
When they execute in March
On the other side of the Pyrenees
An anarchist from the Basque Country
To teach him to revolt
They scream, they cry, and they are outraged
By this vile execution
But they forget that the guillotine
Here too still works
Being born under the sign of the hexagon
Isn't what we do best at the moment
And the king of fools, on his throne
I wouldn't bet he's German
They were told, in April
On TV, in the newspapers
Not to uncover themselves
That spring was coming soon
The old principles of the sixteenth century
And the old stupid traditions
They apply them all to the letter
I pity these idiots
They remember, in May
A blood that flowed red and black
Of a failed revolution
That almost overturned History
I especially remember those sheep
Frightened by Freedom
Going to vote by the millions
For order and security
They commemorate in June
A landing in Normandy
They think of the brave American soldier
Who came to get killed far from home
They forget that sheltered from bombs
The French shouted Long live Pétain
That they were well hidden in London
That there weren't many Jean Moulin
Being born under the sign of the hexagon
Isn't glory, in truth
And the king of fools, on his throne
Don't tell me he's Portuguese
They celebrate in July
In memory of a revolution
That never eliminated
Misery and exploitation
They drink in popular balls
Fireworks and fanfares
They think they forget in beer
That they are governed like pawns
In August it's freedom
After a long year in the factory
They shout Long live paid vacations
They forget the machine a bit
In Spain, in Greece, or in France
They will pollute all the beaches
And by their mere presence
Damage all the landscapes
When in September they assassinate
A people and a freedom
In the heart of Latin America
Not many shout
An ambassador shows up
With open arms, he is welcomed
Fascism is gangrene
In Santiago as in Paris
Being born under the sign of the hexagon
Is really not a sinecure
And the king of fools, on his throne
He is French, I'm sure of it
Harvests are over in October
The grapes ferment in barrels
They are very proud of their vineyards
Their Côtes-du-Rhône and their Bordeaux
They export the blood of the earth
A bit everywhere abroad
Their wine and their camembert
That's their only glory, these crazies
In November, at the Auto Show
They will admire by the thousands
The latest model from Peugeot
That they can never afford
The car, the TV, the betting
It's the opium of the people of France
Removing it is killing him
It's a drug with addiction
In December it's the apotheosis
The big feast and little gifts
They are still as gloomy
But there's joy in the ghettos
The Earth can stop turning
They won't miss their New Year's Eve
I would like to see them all die
Suffocated by turkey with chestnuts
Being born under the sign of the hexagon
You can't say it's exciting
If the king of fools lost his throne
There would be fifty million claimants
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