Tout Le Monde is Corneille’s playful yet soul-searching confession booth. In just a few verses he scrolls through modern life: posting opinions from an iPhone, blaming “the problem” on others, and filling the silence with children, possessions, or digital applause. He admits to being a “generous egoist,” terrified of both darkness and emptiness, while somewhere far away a child is mining for the very minerals that power his phone. The song turns the spotlight on our own contradictions - how we can preach wisdom, chase instant happiness, and still feel helplessly small.
The soaring chorus – “On est tout le monde et personne en même temps” (We are everyone and no one at the same time) – reminds us that we share the same fears, dreams, and childhood prayers, even when we pretend to be unique. Corneille urges listeners to swap judgment for compassion: Who am I to judge? Under different flags, faiths, and family stories, we all kneel to similar rulers and hunt for the same elusive joy. The result is an uplifting, mirror-like anthem that invites you to dance, sing, and maybe rethink how you measure your worth – because in the end, personne et tout le monde, we are all wonderfully, imperfectly human.