Solann’s “Petit Corps” is like a whispered diary entry set to music. She sings to a petit corps – a “little body” that can be read as an unborn child, a fragile inner self, or even a body she feels detached from. By repeating that tomorrow the body will breathe, eat, and grow, she lets us feel the swirl of hope and anxiety that comes with waiting for change. The counting motif “un, deux, trois” mimics a calming technique, hinting at the singer’s attempt to steady racing thoughts while floating between expectation and fear.
Behind the soothing melody lies a raw confession of dissociation and self-doubt. The narrator “leaves her bones in the hands of others,” outsourcing self-love because embracing her own skin feels impossible. Nights are filled with shivers, lungs that “don’t breathe,” and walls she collides with, yet daylight always brings another try. In short, the song captures the fragile moment between who we are now and who we hope to become, wrapping vulnerability, bodily unease, and cautious optimism in one hauntingly beautiful package.