My friend Pierrot

My poor Pierrot, you make your bow

And your face is sad like your life of an artist

You're not loved anymore, your love songs

Are too innocent, leave your velvet clothes behind

 

The public, with a cheer, decided your fate

Must drag the curtain over your life

The comedy has finished, your theatre is dead

And your song ran away in the night

 

My poor Pierrot, my friend Pierrot

About so much bad luck in the moonlight

My friend Pierrot, a man of few words

I really loved your writing, even when it was nothing but a sigh

 

If times have changed, old-fashioned harlequin

I'm forever your friend

As you have enchanted my most lovely years

That's why I tell you today

 

My friend Pierrot who makes his bow

Who quits the scene

Come and sing about your loves and your grief

With me

 

By Jacques Pills

This song is based on a popular French song from the 18th century: "Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot, prête-moi ta plume, pour écrire un mot."

 

Done