Qui a le droit ...

... is a song by Patrick Bruel. Full of anger, he asks who has (takes?) the right to lie to children about the fundamental facts of life. Here is the last verse and the chorus:

A toi aussi j'suis sur qu'on t'en a dit
De belles histoires, tu parle, que des conneries
Alors maintenant on se retrouve sur la route
Avec nos peurs nos angoisses et nos doutes

Qui a le droit
Qui a le droit
Qui a le droit d'faire ca
A des enfants qui croient vraiment ce que disent les grands
On passe sa vie a dire merci
Merci à qui ? à quoi ?
A faire la pluie et le beau temps
Pour des enfants à qui l'on ment

in English:

I'm sure you've heard it too
Beautiful stories, you say, but it's all bullshit
So now we find ourselves on the road
With our fears, our anxieties, and our doubts

Who has the right
Who has the right
Who has the right to do that
To children who really believe what grown-ups say
We spend our lives saying thank you
Thank you to whom? To what?
To call the shots
For children who are lied to

Makes you think, doesn't it?
At least, I hope so.

Monumental in its simplicity, this picture elevates the utterly mundane into a study of form, colour, and quiet tension. A drainpipe descends through the centre of the composition like a totem, its dark column fractured with jewel-like fragments of cobalt, crimson, and purple. Around it, large soft planes of sage green and warm grey create a painterly stillness — a background that breathes. A bold sweep of scarlet erupts across the lower third, grounding the piece with an almost aggressive energy. Corners of gold and blue punctuate the edges like unfinished thoughts. What holds water becomes, here, something closer to sculpture.

If you'd like to listen to this song now, click here.