Charles Trenet - What is left of our love This evening, the wind knocking at my door
Tells me of dead loves
In front of the dying fire
This evening, it's an autumn song
In the shivering house
And I think of the days long gone
What is left of our love
What is left of those beautiful days
A photography, old photography
Of my youth
What is left of the love letters
Of April months, of the rendezvous
A memory that pursues me
Relentlessly
Faded happiness, hair in the wind
Stolen kisses, fleeting dreams
What is left of all of this
Do tell me
A small village, an old belfry
A landscape so well hidden away
And in a cloud the dear face
Of my past
The words, the tender words one whispers
The purest caresses
The oaths deep in the woods
The flowers one finds again inside a book
Which perfume intoxicates us
Have flown away, why so
What is left of our loves
What is left of those beautiful days
A photography, old photography
Of my youth
What is left of love letters
Of April months, of rendezvous
A memory that pursues me
Relentlessly
Faded happiness, hair in the wind
Stolen kisses, fleeting dreams
What is left of all of this
Do tell me
A small village, an old belfry
A landscape so well hidden away
And in a cloud the dear face
Of my past
Instrumental version by Boris Vian