They sold my soul

Art is my part

Money is your giant bow
Jean of Arc is no longer alive but Jean of park is aiming at me
The devil's son rejoices to the melodies of hell from the table girls
Trades change based on their odds
Win-lose partnership
My lost sponsor, win!
My invention is bleeding
My creations move their actions
My heart and my mind bathe
Watch out, Mouna is leaving!
Warning! My art is leaving!
No they did not process my art; they sold my soul
They traded it in the dark like the slave trade,
Abused it many times in the night like the oil of the nut.
Warning! My art is leaving!
No they did not process my art; they sold my soul
After 91 years of life, they remove it with 91 saw teeth
What if our dreams ended like this?
What if our homeland no longer had a monk?
And if we had no more heritage,
What would be the harm tomorrow?
To whom the good of tomorrow?
Warning! My art is leaving!
No they did not process my art; they sold my soul
Don't abuse my reason
I ask for my house
Let it not rain or smoke;
To maintain my culture, I assume...
Whether they speak or remain silent;
Beyond the bread of painting I accept,
The strokes of the request,
The evils of the storm
Whether they walk or run;
To the rhythm of the percussion I dance to the sound of victory
Even if marginalized by the magic of the Elysée, I perse
I persevere towards a virtue without truth

Papa Ina no longer has a scene
His scenario went away enough now in Rio
Mouna leaves
My art is leaving
The boubou of my baobab babbles my beards
No they did not process my art; they sold my soul
They sold my more expensive flesh at auction
My dears, give me a chair
I don't even know where to sit
I lost my body, I lost my memory
I don't know who to believe or where to drink

No they did not process my art; they sold my soul