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Migrators

It was very cool that day on the island of Okishima. We came back there with the idea of filming something and with the hope of the great sun. The sun was there, behind the clouds. Here then, filmed just with a telephone and captured with the small nomadic studio, this song in solo. A traveling stroll, a few simple chords which turn accompanied by the music of the waves, the birds and the wind. A story of migrants echoing the lives of all of us with a few images of the island. I hope that pleases you. It will be on the EP “Hirondelle” which is coming soon !

Migratory birds have eyes that see in the dark, on invisible roads, even facing the sun / They know that the map of worlds is constantly emerging and shaping new expanses

Where the wild swans spend their long winters, there we sometimes want to spend our lives

But the compass of our hearts is above all to love the scents of spring which wash the air / To these cliffs which lean nonchalantly over the abyss alive, to dare to make a nest there that would have no weight

Sheltered from a pink sky of ephemeral flowers, each year that come back, each year the same

So the cries in the passing blue pierce us, look with your eyes like the migrants / The horizons that never seek us out / This blue is in the sky as it is in our breasts

And even if there is a doubt, clouds that return, we will always find the islands of light

All these roads which are those of underground rivers, the migrants guide the loves which are lost / All those who did not know how to say the words they dreaded and who still dance on the edge of their lips

We cross time, we shoot arrows, they always come back to the heart of the present

Even the one still in his cage can feel the slow awakening that takes place in the boreal forest / The lively aspiration of large wild swans and even the mad laughter of young swallows

Because the pulse of spring which pulsates on the Earth, in a collapsing world pulses even below

The spring which brings with it the softness, the sun which is made more lenient every day / The smiles on the lips and the love at the top like the blue of the sky where the migrants pass