Have you ever worn a superhero cape on the outside while feeling like tissue paper inside? That is exactly the double life Corneille and Soolking confess in Seul Au Monde. Over a smooth, soulful beat they peel back the armor of a man who looks “unbreakable” but is haunted by ghosts, lullabies turned into personal requiems, and a mother’s stern advice to never let the world see him cry. The repeated chorus, “Je suis seul au monde,” rings out like a diary entry shouted from a rooftop: no matter how many smiles he puts on, each sunrise reminds him that he is still fighting his battles solo.
The song swings between bravado and vulnerability, jealousy and pride. Corneille despises Christmas because it spotlights the family warmth he lost, yet he also swats away anyone’s pity. His survival rule is simple: if he does not look out for himself, nobody will. Soolking’s verse echoes that grim determination, turning solitude into a badge of honor but also a heavy chain. In the end, Seul Au Monde is both an anthem for the lonely and a reminder that everyone you meet could be hiding their own cracked foundations beneath a polished façade.