Paris fever (EN)

Thirty-eight caliber on the Champs-Elysées
A CRS van haunts the dark asphalt
Acid in the orange juice two streets further
Stroboscopes spit a delicious smoke

My credit card is made of solid gold
I scratched a lamborghini on the way in
My business cards smell of sulfur
On the bar a rose in a blue vase

The champagne flutes reverberate the mauve sky
The silence abandoned the nightclub since hours
A beggar wipes his eyes outside
With the first rays of an August sun

Dresses cut under the pale light
Dollars rain in the pool of people
An insect falls into the plum-flavored liquor
Rock can be heard until the sidewalk

The subway station sinks into the night
Green and pink billboards light up the platform
The hands of the gold Rolex stop
I have lit my cigar in the deserted wagon

The subway is my dancefloor tonight
Only you and I are swaying between the seats
The floor is littered with corpses —
Half-drunk bottles and we’re off again

The fluorescent light of the bars
Calls out to us from the street like a beggar
An iced coffee please !
I want to keep dancing till morning !

Your lips bleached with cocaine,
Pressed on my sweaty lips,
You’ve got to look like you’re happy
In my city deserted by tranquility

I left a tip for the night, she refused it
The darkness is about to fall into the arms of the day
Can you hear the first subway approaching?
Shards of glass litter the Champs-Elysées

An escort dressed in a night blue dress
Glides down the avenue like a visa card in a reader
She has the cold look of a skater
And the smile of a showgirl

The smoke of the cigarettes envelops us
Chopped, our voices bewitch the fences
The grids of the Luxembourg garden answer us by undulating
That Paris is a flashy facade

A last bar before the day appears
The music is crazy, it collides with our eardrums
Like a bee to the walls of a jar,
The rhythm pulses in the four corners of the bar

Stoned, eyes half closed, drunk,
Waiting for the sun to dry the vodka
And the sweat abandons our wrinkled foreheads
A security guard has thrown us out into the street

We walk, arm in arm
Before disappearing into an adjacent street
Light and dark in front of the art of triumph
The avenue of the Champs-Elysées suddenly lights up

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