Un jour, ma cabane

What can be said of the cigarette smokes
A prop for a joke or a mark on the clock
If I stopped would the bus ever come […]

Sleeping under a boat

Sleeping under a boat

I’m reaching the age when decisions are made
On life and living and I’m sure last ditch
That’ll I’ll ask for more time
But mother forgive me
I’ll still want a bottle of good Irish whiskey and a bundle of smokes in my grave.

Thanks for that, Goulven. You’re da man.

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