#it's very poignant to see ourselves viewed through the eyes of our neighbors to the north

[cosmogyros]

I've gotten really into French-Canadian music in the past year or so. I've probably posted about this song before – it's one of my favorite songs about America ever written.

The original lyrics are of course much better than my attempt at a translation. But for what it's worth, I've done my best to put it into English, because I think this song deserves a wider audience.

America Crying

Another day, I’m up with the sun Bags under my eyes from my four hours of sleep I take a couple drags on a cig, got my vitamins Then chug a dishwater coffee to pep me up

I take the Florida Turnpike Tomorrow night I’ll be back in Montmagny, Quebec Being a trucker ain’t exactly the rock-star life But you get to see a lot of the country

Most of all, it makes you realize that behind the beautiful scenery There’s a lot of inequality and faces lined with pain

And I keep asking myself: In the midst of all this hypocrisy How do all these people manage to still believe in life? It’s so sad that, sometimes, when I get back home As I’m parking my old truck I see all of America crying in my rear-view mirror

In the back of my trailer, I’m hauling all the excesses of my era Frozen over-abundance, injected, plastic-wrapped Our good intentions fail and fade We stuff ourselves on carelessness While at the bottoms of these containers, the surplus rots away

And I keep asking myself: What will our children do When there’s nothing left but ruin and hunger? It’s so sad that, sometimes, when I get back home As I’m parking my old truck I see all of America crying in my rear-view mirror

On Interstate 95, dreams go up in smoke A car in flames on an off-ramp – a fatal accident And stuck in this traffic jam, there’s no respect for death Everyone is leaning on their horns, in such a rush to get nowhere

And I keep asking myself: Where are all these people going? So many cars everywhere, the world has gone crazy It’s so sad that, sometimes, when I get back home As I’m parking my old truck I see all of America crying in my rear-view mirror

Another highway truck stop – I pull off to grab some junk food I must admit the “soup du jour” ain’t made with much love anymore Chain-store service has killed off human warmth On the TV, another sicko has just gone on a shooting spree

And I keep asking myself: How do these poor people manage To go their whole lives without love? It’s so sad that, sometimes, when I get back home As I’m parking my old truck I see all of America crying in my rear-view mirror

But I’m not exempt from all this, either When I’m driving alone at night Sometimes I wonder what on earth I’m doing Out here in the middle of nowhere I think of all the moments I’ve missed out on With Mimi and our two girls And I get this fucked-up feeling Of being a stranger in my own family

And I keep asking myself: Why the hell do I work so much? Far away from the ones I love All this just to “play the game”? It’s so sad that, sometimes, when I’m far away from home Sitting in my old truck I feel all of America crying Somewhere deep in my heart