He has disappeared

I don't like the Rue Saint-Martin any more,

not since André Platard left it.

I don't like the Rue Saint-Martin any more.

There's nothing I like, not even wine.

I don't like the Rue Saint-Martin any more,

not since André Platard left it.

He's my friend, he's my buddy.

We shared a room, we shared our food.

I don't like the Rue Saint-Martin any more.

He's my friend, he's my buddy.

One morning he disappeared.

They took him away, and we've heard nothing since.

He's not been seen again in the Rue Saint-Martin.

It's not worth praying to the saints -

Saint Merri or Saint Jacques, Saint Gervais or Martin,

or even Valérien who hides up on the hill.

Time passes. We know nothing.

André Platard has left the Rue Saint-Martin.