Si tu as compris ma détresse:
Arrêtez, chère aimée.
Si tu as compris mon désarroi:
S'il vous plaît, cesse-ça.
Don't get my hopes up in dismay,
with constant praise that makes me ripple.
Don't put my heart in disarray,
with sweet words you think so simple.
Don't speak to me with that pure voice
that you speak with to everyone else,
because my heart grows wings and bats,
and I'll be a rat left to the cats.
I cannot brush it off
and playfully flirt or laugh,
When you call me beautiful
and your silence renders me pitiful.
I cannot calmly deal
how nervous you make me feel.
I know now that all was lies:
My heart is the home of butterflies.
Do you call someone else so charming?
Or are your compliments only mine?
I find your manner quite disarming,
and want to hear it all the time.
Je te veux.