Here's the foreign son on holiday
Meeting her eyes about halfway
A look you know it's killed many men
And I've been all of them
Inside a week
See the man in the bar
Who got too drunk to speak

He endures that song, mundane as it is
Days in a dream
That wasn't his
Nights up at the top of the lift
Where continents drift too far away
To keep it together for long, this half holiday

From the bar they walk to Place Pigalle
The taxi waved down, goodnight, sleep well
Now it's just a step to the door
And he wants all the more to bring her away
Out of this temporary half holiday

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