I fled to a different place. So quickly. The farthest away and I succeeded. I am in Paris. Lit candles. Gray and foggy. I am happy and it’s good for me. And it’s so good for me. In Paris. I wander around… In enchanting narrow alleys. I am spellbound. It sucks me in I am in Paris. Beautiful buildings. They are old. And so very noble. But the country lights me up in Paris. Fair from my house in Paris. I came here. A bit disenchated. This beautiful illusion of mine. A trial to catch up with myself in Paris. Again I disappear. A sad dream. I am famous already. And they hear me here in Paris. Now your voice. It whispers to me from far away. I miss you. Come return to me. Already from Paris. I miss you… And… Paris. Far from my love in Paris. The country is so good to me here. So why do I cry and get upset? Yes, I am happy. So why do I cry at night. I miss you…from Paris. The sun wakes me up. From the window. And I feel the warmth a little more already. The plane lands. And there aren’t any lush and trickling clouds. I’m back again, Shalom Paris.
The summer sun set a vicious circus. When shadows held the world in place. But today i felt a chill in my apartment’s coolest place. Fuggi regal fantasima. The village larks cannot be heard. Cause all the crows got panderers. I can’t escape these velvet drapes. Don’t want my rings to fall off my fingers. Fuggi regal fantasima. The mirror i find hard to face. Cause i fear it’s a long way down. Got to get away from here. Think i know which hemisphere. Crazy me don’t think there’s pain in barcelona. They dance you round a waltz confound. But i fear it’s a long way down. This road. Even if that straw i pulled. And i got to fight that bull. Nothing really does compare to barcelona. Besides in spain don juan’s to blame. But i fear it’s a long way down. And i fear i won’t be around. Got to get away from here. Think i know which hemisphere. Make sure i have all my papers. Laying out my summer clothes. Search for traps in vain like scratching. So my suitcase i can close. Fuggi regal fantasima.
Middle-aged, do the low rise on the waist. London half-life. Middle-aged, you’re the low riser getting over myself today. And if you’re compromised, drive your car through the rain. And if you’ve been beaten, drive your car through the rain. Until you wash off the buzz. Don’t pull over ’till you’re sure one that wanted the floor, one that won’t know the street, one that wanted to land on the heart with his feet up. Oh watch out, you’re only better off with half your life, otherwise wasted. House of cards, you fall hard.
























