I was listening to the Moulin Rouge soundtrack the other day and I came across this song. It was so beautiful that i wanted to use it. Disclaimer- It's all Joss's. Not mine, though I wish it were.

************************************************* Complainte De La Butte

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.” River’s scream echoed throughout the halls of Serenity. Simon sighed as he pulled a shirt on and rushed into his sister’s bedroom. She was curled up in the corner of her bed, knees pulled up to her bent head, and she was rocking to and fro. Her thin sheet covered her bare legs, and draped across her shoulders. She reminded Simon of a girl he had once seen in a blackout sector. So small. So fragile. Simon rushed to her side.

“Shhhh, mei mei. It’s okay, it’s okay.” He comforted in vain. “Not okay, not okay. You don’t understand- you can’t comprehend. You don’t know.” Tears welled in Simons eyes as he saw his fractured sister. She was so frightened. And she was right. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t even help her. “You’re right. I don’t. But I’m trying. I promise. You will get better.” River smiled a little. “I know, I know”

“Do you remember the song that Father used to sing to Mom whenever she got upset.” Simon asked, in an attempt to cheer up his sister. “Complainte de la Butte” River responded with a smile. “That’s right. Do you remember it?” River shook her head. “Sing it to me?” she implored. “Of course.” River lay down on her bed, and as he tucked her in, Simon sang to her, the same way his father would whenever she couldn’t sleep.

‘La lune trop blême Pose un diadème Sur tes cheveux roux La lune trop rousse De gloire éclabousse Ton jupon plein d'trous

La lune trop pâle Caresse l'opale De tes yeux blasés Princesse de la rue Soit la bienvenue Dans mon cœur brisé

The stairways up to la butte can make the wretched sigh While windmill wings of the Moulin shelter you and I

Ma p'tite mandigote Je sens ta menotte Qui cherche ma main Je sens ta poitrine Et ta taille fine J'oublie mon chagrin

Je sens sur tes lèvres Une odeur de fièvre De gosse mal nourri Et sous ta caresse Je sens une ivresse Qui m'anéantit

The stairways up to la butte can make the wretched sigh While windmill wings of the Moulin shelter you and I

Et voilà quelle trotte La lune qui flotte La princesse aussi

Mes rêves épanouis

Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux miséreux Les ailes du moulin protègent les amoureux”

River had closed her eyes, and was sleeping peacefully by the time Simon finished the song. He turned to leave when he saw Kaylee standing at the door. “That was real pretty doc.” She said after he had exited Rivers room, and closed the door. “I didn’t know you could sing.” “Oh, I’m not very good. My father was always much better at it.” “You gotta learn to take a compliment doc. What’s it about anyway?” Simon was confused by the sudden change of subject “What is what about?” “The song of course. I don’t speak any fancy languages.” “Oh, that. It’s in French, a language from Earth-that-was. It’s about a man who falls in love with a beggar girl. My father used to sing it to my mother, and then to River whenever she couldn’t sleep.” “Oh well, it’s real shiny. You’ll have to teach me.” “I don’t know. French is really very difficult to learn” “Are you saying I ain’t capable?” “No, I mean-” Kaylee shook her head and turned away, leaving Simon to inwardly rebuke himself. As she walked back through the cargo bay he heard her say to herself: “Every time I think I’m getting close” Simon sighed and headed back to his own room. As he past Rivers room he heard the voice of his sister- “You are such a boob”

The End.

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Warning- the song is a little inappropriate for Simon to be singing to River, hence the lack of the translation in the original version. But, due to popular demand, here is the translation.

English Translation: The moon, all too fair, in your russet-red hair sets a sparkling crown The moon, all too red with glory, is spread on your poor, tattered gown The moon, all too white, caresses the light in your world-weary eyes Princess of the street, do allow me to greet you, my broken heart cries

The steps of Montmartre, all uphill, are hardest on the poor The sails of the mill, like wings, shelter all paramours

I feel, beggar-girl, your fetters, they curl as they seek out my wrists I feel your young breasts, your thin little waist I lose my regrets I taste on your mouth the feverish breath of a half-starving waif And with your caress I sense drunkenness erasing my life

The steps of Montmartre, all uphill, are hardest on the poor The sails of the mill, like wings, shelter all paramours

And see how she skips, the moon how she drifts, The princess in tow

My reveries grow all paramours The steps of Montmartre, all uphill, are hardest on the poor The sails of the mill, like wings, shelter