Elle avait sous sa toque de martre,

Sur la butte Montmartre,

Un petit air innocent.
On l'appelait rose, elle était belle,

À sentait bon la fleur nouvelle,

Rue Saint-Vincent.
Elle avait pas connu son père,
Elle avait plus de mère,
Et depuis 1900,A’ demeurait chez sa vieille aïeule
Où qu'à s'élevait comme ça, toute seule,
Rue Saint-Vincent.
À travaillait déjà pour vivre
Et les soirs de givre,
Dans le froid noir et glaçant,
Son petit fichu sur les épaules,
À rentrait par la rue des Saules,
Rue Saint-Vincent.

Elle voyait dans les nuit gelées,
La nappe étoilée,
Et la lune en croissant
Qui brillait, blanche et fatidique
Sur la petite croix de la basilique,
Rue Saint-Vincent.
L'été, par les chauds crépuscules,
A rencontré Jules,
Qu'était si caressant,
Qu'à restait la soirée entière,
Avec lui près du vieux cimetière,
Rue Saint-Vincent.
Et je petit Jules était de la tierce
Qui soutient la gerce,
Aussi l'adolescent,
Voyant qu'elle marchait pantre,
D'un coup de surin lui troua le ventre,
Rue Saint-Vincent.
Quand ils l'ont couché sur la planche,
Elle était toute blanche,
Même qu'en l'ensevelissant,
Les croque-morts disaient que la pauvre gosse
Était crevé le soir de sa noce,
Rue Saint-Vincent.
Elle avait sous sa toque de martre,

Sur la butte Montmartre,
Un petit air innocent.
On l'appelait rose, elle était belle,
À sentait bon la fleur nouvelle,
Rue Saint-Vincent.

English translation :
RUE SAINT VINCENT
She had not known her fatherHer mother was goneAnd since 1900She lived in her old grandma’ s houseWhere she took care of herself
She was already working for livingAnd on frosty evenings
In the black freezing coldHer little shawl aroun her shouldersShe came home by the rue des SaulesRue Saint-Vincent.
In these frozen nightsShe saw the curtain of the starsAnd the crescent moonShining white and fatefulOn the little croce of the basilicaRue Saint-Vincent.
By the warm summer twilightShe would meet Jules,Who was so tenderShe would stay all evening longWith him near the old cemeteryRue Saint-Vincent.
And the young Jules was a good-for-nothingPimping the girlsWhen this kidSaw she was not playing the gameHe stabbed her in the stomachRue Saint-Vincent.
When they laid her outShe was all white.The undertakers burying herSaid that the poor childCroaked on her wedding day

Beneath her marten hatOn the Butte Montmartre,She had an innocent little air.She was called Rose, she was beautifulWith a scent like a young flowerRue Saint-Vincent.

One of a billion little lightsFlicker, look fragile from the outsideBut there’s a fire raging brightAnd the more you dim it the more it shines
(Coz) Stars don’t burn out they just move on (like me and you)They don’t fall down they find another home (to go on to)
Stars don’t burn out they just move on (like me and you)They don’t fall down they find another home (to go on to)

Supernova’s are meant to explode
Stars keep on burning, they never get old
Supernova’s are meant to explode
Stars keep on burning, they never get old

Can’t hold us down, we’re our own gravityAnd the tighter you hold the more we’ll fight to be freeYeah, all of these billion little lightsJoin together and shoot across the sky

(Coz) Stars don’t burn out they just move on (like me and you)They don’t fall down they find another home (to go on to)
Stars don’t burn out they just move on (like me and you)They don’t fall down they find another home (to go on to)

Supernova’s are meant to explode
Stars keep on burning, they never get old
Supernova’s are meant to explode
Stars keep on burning, they never get old

Hold on hope

When you don’t call
Wake up, and wait for vision
Search for light, in darkened rooms

Let me see, all the figures behind me
Courage low, and faint of heart

I can feel it, I can feel it
And now i see it, and now i see it’s right
You gotta go away to come back home
To stop holding on, to stop holding on,

To stop holding on, and admit it’s wrong

I’m not giving up, I’m not old enough
To be certain of alone, feel so alone

I’m not giving up, I’m not old enough
I’m not giving up, what it feels to be alone

Choosing rope, So I don’t call,

Wake up To make The decision

Looking up, this darkened room, an older blue
And the phone starts to call, leaves me reeling
And I can feel it’s right, and I feel it’s right
To come back home,

To be holding on, to be holding on,

to be holding on, to be holding on
And I’m not giving up I’m not old enough I’m not giving up
What it feels to be alone