---

It is a blue tulle night, the cats sat on the walls.
The cats are flashing upon the silver walls.
And she still laughs and looks quite like a doll:
A silky dress and shawl made of gold.

She smokes and smoke is getting high into the sky.
She laughs, her shawl is whistling une douce lullaby.

Then… Screach of tyres - he got out of the car!
Twinkle in his eyes - he takes out a gun...
Her laughter stopped: Mon Dieu! Non!
Bang! Bend.
Bang! End.

The dawn is pale, there’s someone smoking on the balcony.
The sea appears in the colour of honey;
The cats are flashing upon the boulevard.
The cats are flashing upon the boulevard.

The cigarette’s burnt out, shawl’s got soiled by tyres.
It’s curled into a ball. Cat's squinted their eyes.

Cut! Perfect! Thank you all!

And… shawl is not gold anymore:
It seems just yellow yarn comforter.
And… girl is no more like a doll,
Though prettiest in the quarter.

The boulevard’s just a dirty little square
Jammed between a city hall and morgue.
There wasn’t any love affair,
It is not Paris nor New York.

That scene is done, but show must go on:
There still are tears in her eyes!

Though shawl’s a scarf, though sweet doll’s just a girl,
Though blue night’s grey, though there’s no love affair,
Though her man’s a boy, who throws stones at cats,
Though there’s no prince at all, though princess is dead,
Though nobody murdered her and there’s no love affair –
She lies lonesome in bed, she’s touching her heart...

It’s blood. Her hand is red. She smiles.

---

Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.