by Cœur de pirate · 2024
The song “Corbeau” by Cœur de pirate is about the emotional struggle of moving on from a past relationship, grappling with lingering memories and intimacy, and the difficulty of finding freedom and self-identity after love has ended.
This song has been Shazamed over 58,495 times. As of this writing, Corbeau is ranked 121
‘Corbeau’ by Cœur de pirate is a haunting French song about heartbreak, letting go, and the things we try to forget. We’re going to explore what this song really means and how it makes us feel. ⬇️
From the very first notes, “Corbeau” pulls us into a nighttime world where secrets linger and old wounds refuse to heal. The atmosphere is heavy, almost foggy, as if every word is whispered through a cloud of memory.
The chorus—“Et je n’sais plus à quoi penser, c’est dur d’être libre comme toi”—hits like a sudden chill, exposing the ache of watching someone else move on so easily. There’s resignation, almost a quiet envy, wrapped in those lines, as if we’re witnessing freedom that feels impossible for ourselves. The repetition, the way she says “c’est fini, rhabille-toi,” makes it sting more; it’s the closing of a chapter, but the book is still wide open on the table.
️ In the verses, Cœur de pirate paints heartbreak in little details: leaving behind faded sketches, swallowing words two by two, hearts racing three by three, all set against the backdrop of shared beds and silent games. “On joue au couteau” (we play with knives) is a lyric that slips in sharpness—a reminder that love, at its end, can turn dangerous, even when we’re lying side by side. There’s vulnerability here, an admission that forgetting isn’t easy, that memories cling to our skin and the past doesn’t just walk away.
The real twist comes when the song circles back, repeating its phrases like a restless mind stuck on loop, mirroring how we replay moments in our heads, unable to let go or fully move forward, haunted by the echo of what once was.
The soul of “Corbeau” is the raw, unvarnished truth that moving on is messy, uneven, and sometimes leaves us longing for the pain to mean something more than just another goodbye.
Writer(s) of Corbeau:
