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Once upon a time...
It was a time, ’twas a time... There were always giants,
giant women and giant men, always in a land far away.
They said: Once upon a time..., and that warmed up their homes,
and kept children spellbound long into the night.
’Twas folktale,’twas fable, 'twas stories to stay up late.
'Cause “Home” was something that stood proud.
Our home was at the top of the mast.
Like a patch of sail, cut in advance
for a boat that wasn't there,
yet sailing in our hopes.
Customs and days sailed alongside legends.
Strongmen abounded.
The likes of Alexis le Grand Coureur, and la Rose's petticoats making devils dance,
and the canoes that tore boreal lace.
'Twas a time, 'twas a time... a time of myths.
The lanes weren’t very long, but led to open spaces,
Poets were in power. Possibilities were limitless.
'Twas a time, 'twas a time...
It wasn't nostalgia, just a door ajar,
facing still possible tomorrows.
'Twas a time
until yesterday... until now! The great Now,
knocking at the door, of this wild century,
the great relentless Now, fingers stuck in the threshold
of a huge house without a country.
We vote just as we sell ourselves.
Then the parties fail to make us whole.
History is written in outmoded ink.
Come what may... rot.
Until the day we each come to say
that perhaps history has fooled us, perhaps, it is no longer a time...
Perhaps, it is no longer any time.
Where are the strongmen, the giants, the coureurs des bois,
the devils, the beautiful dancers?
The bubble seems empty, for it sounds hollow,
like a meaningless legend.
’Twas a time... Is it already the end?
'Twas a time, it's no longer a time. However,
tomorrows are still knocking at the door Tomorrow, there will be a time...
That sure conjugates well...
’Twill be a time of serene horizons,
a world where love has not been spoiled,
where hearts rouse resolute to build big and strong,
braving history, filled with belonging,
drawing in memories where the motto is remembrance,
to draw lines for the future, and invent our survival.
We’ll wake up the wind, giver of heading and hope.
In words, in the air, and in our tottering state
with four centuries of roaming... Tell me we're moving forward.
If we fall, at least we'll have fallen together.
Will there be a time? There will be millions of times.
There will be seven million times.
Our history will soar again and find its place in the sky.
’Twill be a time... in a land far away...
See, just saying it, already it is closer.
There will come a time. And then, we'll all be giants.
Translation: Philippe Axelsen