Lyrics Medine - Boulevard Auriol

Senegal 1978, leaving my country is more like an escape,
I had a premonition of a victory and a French flag,
Determined the direction of my path
An African who once left his country
Southern Hemisphere, Tropic Cancer,
Heading to the golden cities of the north,
Leaving the family, but leaving your heart with your family.

Paris, the French capital,
I moored to the most beautiful city in the world,
This is a city of fat and crowded houses,
Heirloom jewelry and removable dwellings,
And according to my calculations, by August I would have left him,
But my life is walking on the edge of a cliff,
I wanted a family to come to me,
Wife, daughter and son - their future needs to be changed,
Three long years passed - and, behold,
I see relief on their faces,
After a long flight with a stop in Spain,
Finally it is 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 the cold outside
My first wife is a hotel maid
The second was one painter, to one dear,
Spring evening
When she said "get out yourself now",
Meanwhile, in the family replenishment,
A second son and daughter were born, a joy to my heart,
But, as you know, good news is often accompanied by bad news:
I was left homeless, with suitcases in the middle of a huge city.
I went back to the beginning
By spending the night on the platform,
The bedroom has become the station roofs,
This dirt is an opening for a homeless hermit,
When there is no place to dry clothes,
France, my new home, away from my hometown,
I felt depressed again
Looking into the wrinkled faces of fellow sufferers,
Obviously, human rights do not apply to black - neither men nor women.
But one day a bus pulled me up,
From it came a man-exception to these rules
On his T-shirt was the inscription Emmaus,
And I found a temporary shelter,
Vincent Oroule - this is the street that liberated us,
Boulevard in the thirteenth district.
He became my haven, this is the quarter where peace reigned.
The house seemed strong, but the tree cracked,
The fire would have destroyed it in one moment
I still moved with my family: a wife, small children, and a thousand problems.
I thought I wouldn't be here long;
My last chance: I'm going to the mayor of Paris,
Looking through the ads with the hope
But the answer to any request is the same:
"The apartment is rented, 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, unanswered letters,
Our wanderings dragged on, this is too much.
Too much when kids are bitten by rats,
When you live in slums, and there are dirty people around,
It is believed that this is sufficient for such
Like me, for our race,
Here it is, another France, a country of smelly streets,
Dust, which is hidden under the threshold.
The last drop is a layer of lead paint, this is their socialism,
When our children suffer from lead poisoning.
I thought, coming back from Dakar,
That European dream has become a nightmare.

- An excerpt from the television magazine France 2 (the children we hear now died during a fire, peace be upon them)
- "But, for several weeks, she says, her six-year-old son was bitten by rats at night."
- (son's voice) she climbed here, then climbed here, then she jumped and bit me ...
- "But today, residents worry about their safety and fear another fire."

Hour deserved rest,
After a hard day, I sit down at the TV,
And I hear the cries: "DAD !! DAD !!" - who is screaming ?,
You had to sleep,
I'm heading for the door to another room
Which serves as a playroom and a bedroom for children,
It is engulfed in flames, big as mountains
They hate the corridor with hate, and the staircase is on fire.
Fire, a sizzling monster, devouring everything in its path,
He incinerates the house floor by floor.
One matchbox destroyed the six-story house.
This is a deadly fire.