If I talked to someone in French,

ils ne me comprendraient pas.

I’m not sure I would either, though.

I’m just a dull player on the bench,

and I’m the rain compared to snow.

No one bats a single eye at me,

unless their intentions are to judge.

I’m invisible, like I’m caché de la vue.

No one will look, even if I scream.

I’m only parchment, with its ink smudged,

no one bats a single eye at me,

and I know for certain neither will you.

And if my eyes drifted closed,

just one, single, last… one last time,

no one would bat a single eye.

If my breath hitched, never came back,

no would would bother the raindrop

because she’s no snowflake,

she’s the one who simply lacks.

If I died, I’d still be caché de la vue,

because I am the rain to the snow,

I’m the dull, benched player next to you,

I’m the bunny in the magician’s show,

If I’m not invisible, I’m still caché de la vue.

I still feel invisible, on the stage, in light,

as if I’m the clown watching the rodeo.

I’m still the magician’s bunny, a child’s kite,

I’m still caché de la vue, only there for show.

No one bats an eye, not a single person,

I only drown in the light of the stage,

because it’ll never be focused on me.

I’m just a puppet, a bunny, a clown,

I’m only there for an entertainment degree,

so now my head will be bowed down.

No one bats an eye anymore, not even me.

I’m just caché à la vue de tous,

hidden away from the world and from you.