Les fléaux qui minent l'Afrique, la corruption, les dictatures, l'excision des femmes.

It’s not those mics called the overheads
And it’s not those crystals that fit into the palm of my hands
No they won’t crack the safe where I piled hundreds of words just for you
Will you try to keep me even if I never break the silence ?

You’re my doudou boy, you’re my hut, you are my intimate shed
I like our groovy love even if we are obviously untuned

We’ll have to gamble
Conceal our secrets
We’ll have to set aside
Our rusty strings
Lead and metals pointed upon us
Our disclocated concerto
Shine and shine with our groovy frequencies
Shall we try to keep on even if we’re never in tune ?

You’re my doudou boy, you’re my hut, you are my intimate shed
I like our groovy love even if we are obviously untuned

And if it was a perfect love, it wouldn’t be the same tune
Wouldn’t you miss those dirty sounds… untuned ?
Untuned…