On the beach abandoned, shells and crustaceans, Who thought it deplored the loss of summer, Who since then has gone. We arranged the holidays, In cardboard suitcases. And it's sad when you think of the season, Of the sun and songs. Yet I know well next year, Everything will bloom again, we will come back. But in the meantime, I'm in pain, To leave the sea and my house. The mistral will get used, To run without the sails. And it's in my curly hair, That I will miss it the most. The sun, my great friend, Will only burn me from afar, Believing that we are together a little angry, To be all separated. The train will take me to autumn, To find the city under the rain. My sorrow will be for no one, I will look at it as a friend. But on the first day of summer, All the forgotten troubles, We will come back to party with the crustaceans, From the beach in the sun. From the beach in the sun. From the beach in the sun.
