This evening, the wind knocking at my door Tells me of dead loves, in front of the fire that goes out This evening, it's a song of autumn In the house that is shimmering, and I think of the distant days What remains of our loves? What remains of those beautiful days? A photo, an old photo of my youth What remains of the soft notes, of the months of April, of the appointments? A memory that pursues me, non-stop Good family, hair in the wind, kisses stolen, bad dreams What remains of all this, tell me A small village, an old bell tower, a landscape so well hidden And in a cloud, the dear face of my past The words, the tender words that we whisper The purest caresses, the oaths at the bottom of the woods The flowers, that we find in a book Whose perfume intoxicates us, have flown away, why? What remains of our loves? What remains of those beautiful days? A photo, an old photo of my youth What remains of the soft notes, of the months of April, of the appointments? A memory that pursues me, non-stop Good family, hair in the wind, kisses stolen, bad dreams What remains of all this, tell me A small village, an old bell tower, a landscape so well hidden And in a cloud, the dear face of my past © transcript Emily Beynon