Jeanne Moreau (Parigi, 23 gennaio 1928 – Parigi, 31 luglio 2017)

EACH MAN KILLS THE THING HE LOVES

Each man kills the thing he loves
Each man kills the thing he loves da da da da da da da
Each man kills the thing he loves
Each man kills the thing he loves da da da da da da da

Some do it with a bitter look,
some with a flattering word,
the coward does it with a kiss,
the brave man with a sword!
With a sword
With a sword

Each man kills the thing he loves
Each man kills the thing he loves da da da da da da da
Each man kills the thing he loves
Each man kills the thing he loves da da da da da da da

Some kill their love when they are young,
and some when they are old;
some strangle with the hands of lust,
some with the hands of gold:
the kindest use a knife, because
the dead so soon grow cold.

Each man kills the thing he loves
Each man kills the thing he loves da da da da da da da
Each man kills the thing he loves
Each man kills the thing he loves da da da da da da da

Some love too little, some too long,
some sell, and others buy;
some do the deed with many tears,
and some without a sigh:
for each man kills the thing he loves,
yet each man does not die.

Each man kills the thing he loves
Each man kills the thing he loves da da da da da da da
Each man kills the thing he loves
Each man kills the thing he loves da da da da da da da

 

from: THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL

by OSCAR WILDE