Fils de (EN) - Jacques Brel

Son of a thief

English D. Kaiser

Son of a thief
or son of a saint,
every child
has his own complaint.
Son of a king
or son of unknown,
all the children
are like your own.
The same sweet smiles,
the same sad tears,
the same deep sighs,
the night mare fears.

Son of a king
or son of unknown,
all the children
are like your own.

Later I knew, late but not too . . .
Son of a tycoon
or son of a farm,
all the children
run off mother’s arm.
Under domes of gold
or thatched roofs too cold,
all the children
have their realm.
A corner in a wave,
a trembling flower,
a dying bird,
which shows
their poor power.

Son of a tycoon
or son of a farm,
all the children
run off mother’s arm.

Later I knew, late but not too . . .
A son of your son
or a son from abroad,
They play the magician
as if they were God.
A son of true love
or a son of regrets,
all the children
are true poets.

Some guard the cattle,
some are holy kings.
They invent a cloud
to travel on it.
A son of your son
or a son from abroad,
they play the magician
like a God.

Later I knew, late but not too . . .

Son of a thief (1. Strophe)
. . . . . .
the night mare fears.
Son of a king
or son of unknown,
All the children
are like your own,
are like your own,
like your own,
your own.