Free Lyrics 2026

Celine Dion ~ The Forgotten Children


Les enfants oubliés traînent dans les rues Sans but et au hasard Ils ont froid, ils ont faim, ils sont presque nus The forgotten children hang in the streets Without a goal and at random They are cold, they are hungry, they are almost naked Et leurs yeux sont remplis de brouillard Comme une volée de pauvres moineaux Ils ont pour rêver le bord des ruisseaux Recroquevillés sous le vent d'hiver Dans leur pull-over de laine mitée And their eyes are filled by fog Like a gtroup of poor sparrows They have for dreaming the shore of little springs Curled up under the winter's wind In their pullover of motheaten wool Les enfants oubliés n'ont pour seuls parents Que les bruits des grands boul'vards Dans le creux de leurs mains Ils tendent aux passants Des objets dérobés aux bazars Il ont pour s'aimer d'un naïf amour La fragilité des mots de velours Ils ont pour palais tout un univers Dans les courants d'air des vastes cités The forgotten children have as only parents Only the sounds of the main boulevards In the palms of their hands They offer to passer-bys Objects stolen to bazaars They have to love each other of a naive love The fragility of velvet words They have as palace all a universe In the air currents of the huge cities Les enfants oubliés traînent dans les rues Tout comme des petits vieux Ils ont froid, ils ont faim, ils sont presque nus Mais ce sont les enfants du bon dieu The forgotten children hang in the streets Without a goal and at random They are cold, they are hungry, they are almost naked But they are the children of god more free lyrics

Les enfants oubliés traînent dans les rues
Sans but et au hasard
Ils ont froid, ils ont faim, ils sont presque nus

The forgotten children hang in the streets
Without a goal and at random
They are cold, they are hungry, they are almost naked
Et leurs yeux sont remplis de brouillard
Comme une volée de pauvres moineaux
Ils ont pour rêver le bord des ruisseaux
Recroquevillés sous le vent d'hiver
Dans leur pull-over de laine mitée

And their eyes are filled by fog
Like a gtroup of poor sparrows
They have for dreaming the shore of little springs
Curled up under the winter's wind
In their pullover of motheaten wool
Les enfants oubliés n'ont pour seuls parents
Que les bruits des grands boul'vards
Dans le creux de leurs mains
Ils tendent aux passants
Des objets dérobés aux bazars
Il ont pour s'aimer d'un naïf amour
La fragilité des mots de velours
Ils ont pour palais tout un univers
Dans les courants d'air des vastes cités

The forgotten children have as only parents
Only the sounds of the main boulevards
In the palms of their hands
They offer to passer-bys
Objects stolen to bazaars
They have to love each other of a naive love
The fragility of velvet words
They have as palace all a universe
In the air currents of the huge cities
Les enfants oubliés traînent dans les rues
Tout comme des petits vieux
Ils ont froid, ils ont faim, ils sont presque nus
Mais ce sont les enfants du bon dieu

The forgotten children hang in the streets
Without a goal and at random
They are cold, they are hungry, they are almost naked
But they are the children of god

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Globalized Sounds

Today, beautiful European and American music, an Afrobeats recorded in Lagos, can play in headphones in Tokyo; a South Korean idol group can fill an Argentine stadium to capacity. On Spotify, the playback volume of African music has increased by 500% in five years; K-pop has already transcended the Asian border and become a common language for young people all over the world; Latin music has consistently topped the streaming charts for several consecutive years. The world is getting smaller while the scope of music is expanding.

The Power of the Scene

When the lights dim and the first note is played, strangers become synchronized. The tremor when thousands sing together, and the melody that still echoes after the crowd disperses - this is an experience that no screen can convey. We look forward to the return of large-scale concerts to the essence of music, and we also look forward to small livehouses continuing to nourish the most vibrant soil of music.

Crossing Borders

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