He was there in this chair, my spectator of the first day, Like a father overflowing with pride for the one who took his turn. He was there in this chair, first witness of my wrong steps, My heart trembling like a leaf, believing that I did not know. He was there on my gallery, lieutenant of Providence, Sending me light waves like the sky of his province. He was there in this chair, which he rented for eternity, To applaud me from the corner of the eye and laugh from time to time. Little one, you made me happy, you reminded me of your grandfather. Between his tears and his smile, there was no border. He was there in this chair, when I made my first crime, When I dared to show my face to the little friends of my class, Full of modesty and indulgence for the violence of my passions, For this beautiful intransigence that so many concessions would follow. He was there in this chair, my spectator of the first day, Like a father overflowing with pride for the one who took his turn, In the halo of the projector, he comes to settle every night, Like any other spectator, but I am the only one to see him. Little one, you made me happy, you reminded me of your grandfather. Between his tears and his smile, there was no border. He was there in this chair, where my eldest son will sit, Four generations welcome him and he already knows that one day, I will be there in this chair, his spectator of the first day, Like a father overflowing with pride for the one who will take his turn. Little one, you made me happy, you reminded me of your grandfather. Between his tears and his smile, there was no border. Thank you for watching!