A pure marvel. A shinning flake in a gold nugget album.
The album is "L'Histoire de Melody Nelson" by Serge Gainsbourg. An albulm considered by many (and not only french) as one of the finest french album ever.
You cannot listen to this song apart of its album.
It's the final song, the grief song. Melody just died in a plane crash - a night cargo plane - somewhere along the shore of Guinea. The song starts from there (the crash itself is at the end of the previous song). It's an egnimatic song about guineans indigens worshiping their totems and the Boiengs and DC4s (D.C quatre) flying over their heads and throwing

and throwing darts from their blowpipes (srabacanes) expecting to them to wreck and take over the contents and spirit of them.
In his grief he prays (Moi, comme eux, j'ai prié les cargos de la nuit) this "cargo culte" in hope it could give him back Melody.
The lyrics didn't really make sense to me until I read this page of our good old Wikipedia:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cargo_cult
He's so sad that he's ready to believe in a religion that claims that a wrecked plane content can be returned to life (Et je garde cette espérance d'un désastre
Aérien qui me ramènerait Melody)

know of the the magicians who call to jets
In the jungle of New Guinea
They scrutinize the zenith coveting the guineas
That the pillage of freight would bring them

On the sea of coral in the wake of this
Machine those creatures not deprived
Of reason those Papuans wait for vapour
The wreck of the Vice-count and that of the Comet

And as their totem hasn't ever been able to bring down
To their feet neither a Boeing nor even a D.C. four
They dream of hijacks and of bird accidents

Those naive shipwreckers armed with blowguns
Who sacrifice to the cargo cult
By blowing toward the azur and the airplanes.

Where are you Melody and your wrecked body
Is it haunting the archipeligo where the sirens live
Or well attatched to the cargo plane whose siren
Of alarm has become silent, did you stay

Adrift on the currents have you already touched
Those bright corals of the Guinean costs
Where those indiginous magicians act in vain
Who still hope for smashed planes

Having nothing more to lose nor a God in whom to believe,
So that they give me meaningless loves
I, like them, I prayed to the night cargo planes

And I hold onto that hope of an air
Disaster that would bring Melody back to me
A minor turned away from the gravity of the stars.

English Translation praise to A. Chabot