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Petit garçon

de Charles Aznavour

They fell that year
They vanished from the Earth
Never knowing the code
Or what law they'd offended
The women fell at work
And the babies they tended
Left to die, left to cry
All condemned by their birth

They fell like rain
Across the thirsty land
In their hearts they were clean
In their dust still believing
All the obedient things
In a season of grieving
Caught in rain, always rain
Just for one helping hand

For no one heard their prayers
In a world bent on pleasure
From other people scared
They simply closed their eyes
They craved a lot of sound
In jazz and ragtime measured
The trumpets screamed till dawn
To drown the childrens' cries

They fell like leaves
Its people in its pride
People, men, kindly men
And not one knew his crime
If he came in an hour
Like a small desert flower
Still covered by the silent wind
In sands of time

They fell that year
Before they could grow
They had little to give
But their lives and their passion
And their longing to live
In their way, in their fashion
So their harvest could thrive
And their children could grow

They fell like flies
Their eyes still full of sun
Like a dog each flies
In the path of a rifle
That holds on with its might
And each death, though a trifle
And to bring to an end
A life barely begun

And I am of that Race
Who died in unknown places
Who perished in their pride
Whose blood in rivers ran
In agony and pride
With courage on their faces
They went into the night
That waits for every man

They fell like tears
And never knew what for
In that summer of pride
Of massacre and war
Their only crime was life
They only give towards being
The children of Armenia
Nothing less, nothing more

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