To be Young in Paris,
And walk on the soaked pavements
As the light reflect, yellow,
And passerbies, blonde, black, asian, arab, european,
Go on, proud sometimes,
Their feet hitting the pavement.
We move.
A city here young,
While the old is at home.
It is 11 pm and we are out to Party --
To chase in the night the alcoolised dream.
And i feel in my belly the sweet effect of the liquid.
Women dance on a dancefloor little and full.
I watch youth.
And i dread old age considering i have not exploited enough my young years.
I wonder at the ressourcefullness of some, apparently exhilarated through dance.
There is a DJ here, looking at us to choose her rythms.
Oh to inspire movements in others by the move of an idea and hands.
Oh to be young and in Paris,
As the light traces it self on the floor and in our mind of dream.