Héxagone Lyrics in English Renaud
Below, I translated the lyrics of the song Héxagone by Renaud from French to English.
They kiss in January
'Cause a new year starts
But for ages now
France hasn't changed that much
Days and weeks go by
Only the scenery changes
The mindset stays the same
All losers, all two-faced a**holes
They're not bothered, come February
About remembering Charonne
The sworn baton-wielders
Who polished off their job
France is a land of cops
On every street corner there's a hundred of them
To impose public order
They kill with impunity
When in March they execute
On the other side of the Pyrenees
A Basque anarchist
For daring to rise up
They shout, they cry and get outraged
At this filthy execution
But they forget the guillotine
Still works here at home too
Born under the sign of the Hexagon
Isn't the best we do right now
And the king of idiots, on his throne
I wouldn't bet he's German
They were told in April
On TV, in the papers
Not to take off a single layer
That spring was coming soon
The old sixteenth-century principles
And the stupid old traditions
They follow them all to the letter
Those morons make me pity them
They remember, in May
Blood that flowed red and black
A failed revolution
That nearly overturned History
I mainly remember those sheep
Scared of Freedom
Going to vote by the millions
For order and security
In June they commemorate
A Normandy landing
They think of the brave Yank soldier
Who came to get killed far from home
They forget that, safe from the bombs
The French yelled Long live Pétain
That they were well hidden in London
That there weren't many Jean Moulins
Born under the sign of the Hexagon
That's no glory, truth be told
And the king of idiots, on his throne
Don't tell me he's Portuguese
They party in July
In memory of a revolution
That never wiped out
Misery and exploitation
They soak up street dances
Fireworks and oom-pah
They think they'll forget in beer
They're ruled like pawns
In August it's freedom
After a long year in the factory
They shout Long live paid holidays
They forget the machine for a while
In Spain, in Greece, or in France
They go pollute every beach
And by their mere presence
Ruin all the landscapes
When in September they murder
A people and a freedom
In the heart of Latin America
Not many shout about it
An ambassador shows up
With open arms he's welcomed
Fascism is gangrene
In Santiago as in Paris
Born under the sign of the Hexagon
It really ain't a cushy job
And the king of idiots, on his throne
He's French, that I'm sure
Harvest's over in October
The grapes ferment in barrels
They're very proud of their vineyards
Their Côtes-du-Rhône and their Bordeaux
They export the blood of the earth
A little everywhere abroad
Their plonk and their camembert
That's these nutters' only pride
In November, at the Motor Show
Thousands go admire
The latest Peugeot model
They can never afford
The car, the TV, the trifecta
Is the opium of the French people
Take it away and you kill him
It's an addictive drug
In December it's the apotheosis
The big feast and the little gifts
They're still just as gloomy
But there's joy in the ghettos
The Earth could stop turning
They won't miss their New Year's Eve
I'd like to see them all croak
Choked by chestnut-stuffed turkey
Born under the sign of the Hexagon
Can't say that's a turn-on
If the king of idiots lost his throne
There'd be fifty million contenders
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