There is nothing for it

Френски

Et l'on n'y peut rien

 

Comme un fil entre l'autre et l'un
Invisible, il pose ses liens
Dans les méandres des inconscients
Il se promène impunément

Et tout un peu tremble
Et le reste s'éteint
Juste dans nos ventres
Un noeud, une faim

Il fait roi l'esclave
Et peut damner les saints
L'honnête ou le sage
Et l'on n'y peut rien

Et l'on résiste on bâtit des murs
Des bonheurs, photos bien ranges
Terroriste, il fend les armures,
Un instant tout est balayé

Tu rampes et tu guettes
Et tu mendies des mots
Tu lis ses potes
Aimes ses tableaux

Et tu cherches la croiser
T'as quinze ans soudain
Tout change de base
Et l'on n'y peut rien

Il s'invite quand on ne l'attend pas
Quand on y croit, il s'enfuit déjà
Frère qui un jour y goûta
Jamais plus tu ne guériras

Il nous laisse vide
Et plus mort que vivant
C'est lui qui décide
On ne fait que semblant
Lui, choisit ses tours
Et ses va et ses vient
Ainsi fait l'amour
Et l'on n'y peut rien

Try to align
Английски

There is nothing for it

Versions: #1#2

Like an invisible thread between Him and She
it knits amorous ties
In the convoluted unconscious
it wanders free as a bird

And everything flickers
what's outside it dims down
Only a hunger in our hearts

it changes a slave into a king
and can fell the saints down from their skies
it can damn the righteous or the wise
And there's nothing for it.

You resist it, all wrapped up in yourself
pictures, and tokens of happy times.
Like a terrorist he rams through your door
In just a blink everything's washed away

Crawling and spying
and begging for words
you read its poets and relish its paintings
(tu lis ses poètes, aimes ses tableaux)

And you try to cross her path
Suddenly you are fifteen again
your whole world's turned around
And there's nothing for it.

It intrudes when you least expect it
Sart believing in it and it evaporates
Brother, you who it once got hooked
You never again be able to withdraw

It leaves us empty
and more dead than alive
it's it that calls the tune
we can only make believe
it chooses its quirks
its going out and coming in
such are the ways of love
And there's nothing for it.

Коментар на автора:

fairly difficult to translate into English!!!
This is no 'word for word' translation
This is what I'd call an 'adaptation'
*fell the saints (like a lumberjack would fell trees)
the French personal pronoun 'on' can be translated into English by 'one'; 'we' or even 'you'

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