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Way up yonder above the sky
A bluebird lived in a jaybird's eye

Buckeye Jim, you can't go
Go weave and spin, you can't go
Buckeye Jim

Way up yonder above the moon
A blue jay nest in a silver spoon

Buckeye Jim, you can't go
Go weave and spin, you can't go
Buckeye Jim

Way down yonder in a wooden trough
An old woman died of the whoopin' cough

Buckeye Jim, you can't go
Go weave and spin, you can't go
Buckeye Jim

Way down yonder in a hollow log
A red bird danced with the green bullfrog

Buckeye Jim, you can't go
Go weave and spin, you can't go
Buckeye Jim

Dans la vitrine, carcasse éclatée,
crinière grise et robe déchirée
Petit cheval de papier, de chiffon
Dors sous la cendre de mille saisons

Parfums de fêtes, souvenirs secrets
Brumes légères au-dessus des marais
Cheval de bois ,de chiffon, de regrets
Teint porelaine de filles de Mai

Tu te souviens ces matins de printemps
Les mariés te couvraient de rubans
Cheval d'amour, de folie, d'évasion
Danses païennes, tambours et chansons

Dans la vitrine, peinture écallée, 
robe sanguine et tiganasse arrachée
Petit cheval de carton, de chagrin
Pour toi je crois à un autre matin

Eveille toi de la nuit du passé
Relève toi des siècles embrumés
Cheval d'argent, destriller triomphant
Renaîs au siècle nouveau qui t'attend
Cheval ardant, destriller flamboyant
Renais au siècle qui vient maintenant

Cheval d'argent destriller triomphant
Renais au siècle nouveau qui t'attend
Cheval ardant, destriller flamboyant
Renaîs au siècle qui vient maintenant

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Huna blentyn ar fy mynwes,

Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon;
Breichiau mam sy'n dynn amdanat,
Cariad mam sy dan fy mron;
Ni chaiff dim amharu'th gyntun,
Ni wna undyn â thi gam;
Huna'n dawel, annwyl blentyn,
Huna'n fwyn ar fron dy fam.

Huna'n dawel, heno, huna,
Huna'n fwyn, y tlws ei lun;
Pam yr wyt yn awr yn gwenu,
Gwenu'n dirion yn dy hun?
Ai angylion fry sy'n gwenu,
Arnat ti yn gwenu'n llon,
Tithau'n gwenu'n ôl dan huno,
Huno'n dawel ar fy mron?

Paid ag ofni, dim ond deilen
Gura, gura ar y ddôr;
Paid ag ofni, ton fach unig
Sua, sua ar lan y môr;
Huna blentyn, nid oes yma
Ddim i roddi iti fraw;
Gwena'n dawel yn fy mynwes.
Ar yr engyl gwynion draw.

Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.
Every fiddler he had a fiddle,
And a very fine fiddle had he;
Oh there's none so rare, as can compare,
With King Cole and his fiddlers three.