Fille de corsaire

18th July. The wind is blowing from the south-east. Saint-Malo appears like a pirate ship on the landscape at the mouth of the Rance. The walls of the fort shine above the port. I don't like to provoke fate, rather, I like it to provoke me. This evening, at low tide, I will be able to reach the Fort du Petit Bé. The sea is calm, it only wavers as my boat passes. Images are created in the waves They appear only for a second and disappear, in the depths of the sea. Images are created by the melody I whistle. I compose for those who dream of the Aleutian Islands I whistle and feel the warm sand under my feet. I whistle a song that does not yet have a voice. I evoke the colour of the Moorish, the crab claws on the key rings, the dusty ships in the bottles, la fille de corsaire. Her big bag is full of treasures. The gold from the last plundering she used to rebuild her life. The course is set, What happened to reality? I tried to get up but I couldn't find my feet. I sing about other people's lives, hoping to live them one day. Je suis une fille de corsaire On m'appelle la flibustière J'aime le vent, j'aime la houle Je fends la mer comme la foule la foule la foule Il faut que j'aille au bout du monde Pour savoir si la terre est ronde Vite vite mon joli bateau Il ne sera jamais trop tôt Pour voguer vers San Francisco, en passant par Valparaiso Et gagner les Aléoutiennes, en traversant les mers indiennes Il faut que j'aille au bout du monde Pour savoir si la terre est ronde... When I meet la fille de corsaire, I love her only in summer. This is not a sailor's song, it is a love song.