Bohemian of Paris,
Happy, crazy and gloomy,
Of a time now gone by
Where in a loft,
With a Can-Can costume
You would pose for me
And I, with devotion,
Painted with passion
Your weary body
Until the break of dawn,
Sometimes without eating
And always without sleep
The bohemian, the bohemian,
she was love, happiness
The bohemian, the bohemian
Was a flower of our era
Under an oil lamp,
The coffee table
Happily brought us together
Talking incessantly,
Dreaming about reaching
To get the glory
And when some painter
Found a buyer
And sold him a canvas,
We used to shout
With him and stroll
Cheerfully through Paris
The bohemian, the bohemian
was playful, I saw you and loved you
The bohemian, the bohemian,
With you I can succeed
We had good health,
A smile, youth,
And nothing in our pockets
Despite cold, despite heat,
The same good humor,
We danced in our thirst
Always struggling equally
with hunger until the end
We would make castles,
And the desire to live
Would make us endure
And not falter
The bohemian, the bohemian
Was to watch the sunrise.
The bohemian, the bohemian
Was to dream with a desire
Today I returned to Paris,
I crossed its gray fog,
I found it had changed
The lilacs are no longer there,
Nor do they climb to the loft
Purple with passion
Dreaming like it was yesterday
I wandered by my studio,
Most of it demolished now
And they have put in its place
Downstairs a cafe bar
And upstairs a guest house
The bohemian, the bohemian that
I lived through, she lost her light
The bohemian, the bohemian
Was a flower and finally died
