Medine - Boulevard Auriol
текст песни

Senegal 1978, leaving my country is more like a flight,
I foresaw the victory and the French flag,
I determined the direction of my path
African who once left his country,
Southern hemisphere, cancer tropic,
He went to the golden cities of the north,
Leaving the family, but leaving his heart with his family.

Paris, French capital,
I moored to the most beautiful city in the world,
It is a city of fat and crowded houses,
Family jewelry and removable dwelling,
And according to my calculations, by August I would have left him,
But my life is walking along the edge of the cliff,
I wanted a family to come to me,
Wife, daughter and son - their future needs to be changed,
Three long years have passed - and now
I see relief on their faces,
After a long flight with a stop in Spain,
Finally, it's time to heal the wounds,
The deepest wounds are those in the heart.

Children cry at night in beds,
What is behind the cardboard wall,
Barely restraining street cold,
My first wife is a maid at the hotel,
The second was one painting, up to one cute,
Spring evening,
When she said "now get out yourself",
Meanwhile, the family is replenishment,
The second son and daughter were born, joy to my heart,
But, as you know, good news is often accompanied by bad ones:
I was left without shelter, with suitcases in the middle of a huge city.
I returned to the beginning
To the night on the platform,
The bedroom roofs became the bedroom,
This dirt is discoveries for a homeless hermit,
When nowhere to dry clothes,
France, my new house, far from my hometown,
I felt longing again
Looking at the wrinkled faces of comrades in misfortune,
Obviously, human rights do not apply to black - neither men nor women.
But once a bus slowed down near me,
A man-except from these rules came out of it,
His t -shirt was the inscription Emmaus,
And they found me temporary housing,
Vincen Oryol - this is the street that freed us,
Boulevard in the thirteenth district.
He became my refuge, this is the quarter where the world reigned.
The house seemed strong, but the tree was dry,
The fire would have destroyed him at one moment,
I still moved with my family: wife, small children, and a thousand problems.
I thought that I would not stay here for a long time,
My last chance: I am heading to the city hall of Paris,
I look through the ads with hope,
But for any request, the answer is the same:
"The apartment was rented out, we will call you back",
Even if I paid three months in advance,
It took 15 years to understand the system,
15 years and mountains of letters to the ministry, letters unanswered,
Our wanderings dragged on, this is already too much.
Too when the children bite rats,
When you live in slums, and circled people around,
It is believed that this is enough for such
Like me, for our race,
Here it is, another France, a country of smelly streets,
Dust that is hidden under the threshold.
The last drop is a layer of lead paint, this is their socialism,
When our children suffer from lead.
I thought, returning from Dakar,
That the European dream has become a nightmare.

- an excerpt from the France 2 television magazine (the children we hear now died during the fire, the world of their dust)
- "But, for a few weeks, she says, her six -year -old son was bitten by rats at night"
- (The voice of the son) She climbed here, then climbed here, then she jumped and bit me ...
- "But today residents are worried about their safety and are afraid of another fire"

Hour of a well -deserved rest,
After a hard day, I sit at TV,
And I hear the cries: "Dad !! dad !!" - Who screams?
You should have been sleeping
I am heading for the door to another room,
Which serves the game and bedroom for children,
It is covered by flames, large, like mountains,
They destroy the corridor with hatred, and the staircase in the fire.
A fire, incinerating a monster, devouring everything in its path,
He incinerates the house of the floor behind the floor.
One box of matches destroyed a six -story house.
This is a murderous og