Une Autre Histoire D'amour Lyrics in English Tim Dup

Below, I translated the lyrics of the song Une Autre Histoire D'amour by Tim Dup from French to English.
Where are you right now, me, running late
I'm pacing the hallways
Looking for what, I don't know
Miss, I dig you and you know it
Let me take you away
We'll find ourselves a hideout
Safe from the world
Safe from want
Between the dew
And the shooting stars
I'm not the kind of guy to
Sit down next to you
You freeze me and break me
There's something in you
That stops me
From anything at all
I just wanna take you
Into the hollow of the waves
Of the swells that settle
On your sleeping body
In the waltz of the wind
And the sound of the night
We'll outsmart the stats
By ignoring the percentages
Of the odds I'd have
To unhook your blouse
In a full storm
I'm not the kind of guy to
Sit down next to you
You freeze me and break me
There's something in you
That stops me
From anything at all
No I'm not the kind of guy to
Sit down next to you
You freeze me and break me
There's something in you
That stops me
From anything at all
From anything at all
I just wanted you to follow me
Into the
Of
Listening to old Jazz from the twenties
Chasing nothing
But you wanted my butter
The money for my butter
And my milkmaid a**
But that pays next to nothing
To give flowers
To buy drinks
I'm not the kind of guy to
Sit down next to you
You freeze me and break me
There's something in you
That stops me
From anything at all
I'm not the kind of guy to
Sit down next to you
You freeze me and break me
There's something in you
That stops me
From anything at all
From anything at all
Lyrics and Translations Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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SONG MEANING

Tim Dup’s Une Autre Histoire d’amour feels like slipping into a late-night daydream where fantasy and reality wrestle for the steering wheel. The narrator bursts through echoing corridors, forever en retard, chasing a magnetic woman who both freezes and shatters him with a single glance. He pictures a secret hideaway far from the buzz of the world—somewhere between morning dew and shooting stars—where waves, wind and jazz from the 1920s compose their own private soundtrack.

Yet behind the poetic runaway plan lurks a sharper truth. While he craves simple, reckless romance, she seems to want everything at once—“his butter, the money for his butter, and the dairymaid’s behind.” The song swings between hope and disillusionment, painting a bittersweet portrait of modern love statistics, impossible expectations and the courage it takes to dream anyway. Listening feels like reading a love letter scribbled on a train ticket: impulsive, vulnerable and utterly human.

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