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MORT DE LA LEGENDE DAVID CROSBY--RIP-Wooden Ships - Crosby Stills Nash and Young


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Wooden Ships is a famous song by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. It was on their album So Far, and was one of their greatest hits. The lyrics are as follows: Stills: If you smile at me, I will understand 'Cause that is something everybody everywhere does in the same language. Crosby: I can see by your coat, my friend, you're from the other side, There's just one thing I got to know, Can you tell me please, who won? Stills: Say, can I have some of your purple berries? Crosby: Yes, I've been eating them for six or seven weeks now, haven't got sick once. Stills: Probably keep us both alive. Wooden ships on the water, very free and easy, Easy, you know the way it's supposed to be, Silver people on the shoreline, let us be, Talkin' 'bout very free and easy... Horror grips us as we watch you die, All we can do is echo your anguished cries, Stare as all human feelings die, We are leaving - you don't need us. Go, take your sister then, by the hand, lead her away from this foreign land, Far away, where we might laugh again, We are leaving - you don't need us. And it's a fair wind, blowin' warm, Out of the south over my shoulder, Guess I'll set a course and go...

 

Stills: Si tu me souris, je comprendrai Car c'est quelque chose que tout le monde fait partout dans la même langue. Crosby: Je peux voir à ta veste, mon ami, que tu viens de l'autre côté, Il y a juste une chose que je dois savoir, Peux-tu me dire, s'il te plaît, qui a gagné? Stills: Dis, puis-je avoir un peu de tes baies violettes? Crosby: Oui, je les mange depuis six ou sept semaines maintenant, je ne suis pas encore tombé malade une seule fois. Stills: Probablement nous maintiendra tous les deux en vie.

Des navires en bois sur l'eau, très libres et faciles, Facile, tu sais comment cela devrait être, Des gens en argent sur le rivage, laissez-nous être, En parlant de très libres et faciles... L'horreur nous saisit alors que nous te regardons mourir, Tout ce que nous pouvons faire est d'échoer tes cris déchirants, Regarder tous les sentiments humains mourir, Nous partons - tu n'as pas besoin de nous.

Va, prends ta sœur alors, par la main, emmène-la loin de ce pays étranger, Loin, où nous pourrions rire à nouveau, Nous partons - tu n'as pas besoin de nous.

Et c'est un vent favorable, qui souffle chaud, Venant du sud sur mon épaule, Je suppose que je fixerai une route et partirai...

 
 
Edited by SOLAS
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