Faithful to the last
Life can be unfair
Seven years have passed
We've seen the last of Martin Guerre

Mother's none too chuffed
Told her not to wait
Desperate for an heir
They'll find Bertrande another mate

There's Guillaume the farmhand, guards her like his own
Starting like a hawk
Crikey, you can talk
Poor Bertrande, she's sleeping on our own....

- Just like us...
- And all the better for it....
- Too true, too true...

Jacques was a devil with his dibber
Oh, my Georges...he had the hugest...feet
Claude made his own rope!
Jacques always used to snore, just like a wild boar
A-snuffling and a-wheezing
My Georges, I guarantee
He'd get up to pee seven times a night!

Claude always stole the sheet
Hooked it with his feet
Mine in turn were freezing

They went and popped their clogs
Now we sleep like logs!
I sleep with the dogs!

- No!
- Yes, but just in winter...

Nights, sleeping on our own...
Years, sleeping on our own
Still, we mustn't moan!
No

He'd graze me with his chin
He'd kick me in the shin
And mine would sweat profusely

Jacques mutter when he dreamed
Muttered? My man screamed
Heard for miles around

- Claude, when he got quite bored, bound me with a cord
- No
- Yes, but only loosely

We're sleeping on our own
One bed and a crone!
Dogs without a bone!

We're sleeping on our own
Without a chaperone,
Who's sleeping up in heaven

Soon we'll be just the same
Some forgotten name
Carved upon a stone

Then, we can live our lives
Lost and lonely wives
Sleeping on our own

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