good music on youtube

[Sundae]

Forgot I had this in my CD collection. As soon as I discovered it, I rushed here to share it with you. If rushing can be accorded with listening to it about 10 times.

I won't be everyone's cup of tea - but I loved Moulin Rouge (this is on the album soundtrack) and my rusty old French is good enough to make some sense of it. Translation (NOT MINE) is included because some of my own translations were nonsensical, and yours might be also. I once translated (partly for fun) a French language tape to say a woman usually went to work dressed as a black cherry yoghurt...


La lune trop bleme pose un diademe sur test cheveux roux
La lune trop rousse de gloire eclabousse ton jupon plein d'trous
La lune trop pale caresse l'opale de tes yeux blases
Princesse de la rue soit la bienvenue dans mon coeur brise

Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux misereaux
Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureaux

Petite mandigotte je sens ta menotte qui cherche ma main
Je sens ta poitrine et ta taille fine
J'oublie mon chagrin
Je sens sur tes levres une odeur de fievre de gosse mal nourri
Et sous ta caresse je sens une ivresse qui m'aneantit

Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux misereux
Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux

Et voila qu'elle trotte la lune qui flotte, la princesse aussi
La da da da da da da da da da
Mes reves epanouis

Les escalier de las butte sont durs aux misereux
Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux

Translation:
The moon, all too fair, in your russet-red hair sets a sparkling crown
The moon, all too red with glory, is spread on your poor, tattered gown
The moon, all too white, caresses the light in your world-weary eyes
Princess of the street, do allow me to greet you, my broken heart cries
The steps of Montmartre, all uphill, are hardest on the poor
The sails of the mill, like wings, shelter all paramours
I feel, beggar-girl, your fetters, they curl as they seek out my wrists
I feel your young breasts, your thin little waist
I lose my regrets
I taste on your mouth the feverish breath of a half-starving waif
And with your caress I sense drunkenness erasing my life
The steps of Montmartre, all uphill, are hardest on the poor
The sails of the mill, like wings, shelter all paramours
And see how she skips, the moon how she drifts,
The princess in tow
Da da da da da da da da da da
My reveries grow
The steps of Montmartre, all uphill, are hardest on the poor
The sails of the mill, like wings, shelter all paramours