. . . A sa boulimie de Cerises, à son style pacotille. Un océan de pensées , Je t'offre une symphonie de couleurs . . . La vie est un jeu de cartes, Paris un Casino . . .

13 nov. 2012

One Day



No more tears, my heart is dry. I don't laugh and I don't cry. I don't think about you all the time. But when I do, I wonder why you had to go out of my French door. One day 'baby', we'll be old, Oh 'baby', we'll be old and think of all the stories that we could have told. Little me and little you kept doing all the things they do. They never really think it through Like I can never think you're true. Here I go again : the blame, the guilt, the pain, the hurt, the shame The founding fathers of our plane That's stuck in heavy clouds of rain. One day 'baby', we'll be old Oh 'baby', we'll be old And think of all the stories that we could have told.