Perhaps she lives
In our dreams alone,
She whose face is
Illumined
By the rays
Of the sun,
While the dansette plays
Some romantic melody,
O how I love
The one
Who lives in my perfect love.
*
It’s so strange,
The morning comes,
And there are tears in my eyes;
My dream has disappeared,
Lost in the wind of time;
She who looked at me
With such tenderness,
While the dansette played
Some romantic melody,
O how I love the one
Who lives in my perfect love.
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repeating the last 2 lines really works here…a feeling of gentle longing…beautifully atmospheric
I’m so pleased you like it, Gregory, it was based on a song I wrote in French when I was 19.