Black Arthur
Where is the white king ?
Is he submitted
To the landless Barons ?
Or has he forgotten,
In the fire of his feelings,
That land is drowned in blood ?
The spirit of wild reed
Enlightens the soul
Of the lout, the ignoramus
The logger cracking under the white frost,
The long, long, lonely,
Long-drawn-out day.
He chases the suffering
Of hunger away.
The guts of pigs
Don’t turn to pudding no more.
Everything is death
Everything is sad
Everything is bad
And bad is the death.
Alcohol gives to the fool
Courage to face the she-wolf.
Tremble, cry as you will want,
Only the white king,
Will die down the furies
Of the devil forces
Give, offer
As long as you can
To the Good Génius
Who sleep in the cave.
Deposit, give up your richnesses
The Good Genius
Nourishes from gifts
Taken by the poor
From their thin hopes.
They offer a necklace or a cup
Blackened by the years.
The women give up
A medal, a coin,
A brilliant tear.
The children draw
Iron Giants
Fighting dragons.
The voice in the trees
Vibrates like a solitary reed
And announces that the law of our fathers
Will one day be respected
By silver you’ll found a dream again.
Then, in clearness
The furies will be calmed.
The large gate will close again.
The silver mountain
Will illuminate the obscure regions
And will chase away
The landless barons
And the womensthiefs.
Paroles 
