It was Paris, night, and I was young
Thick and coal-black flowed the Seine
I was high, was wet, was drunk
On love, on poetry, on pain

It was Paris, Paris of a thousand faces
Which was my beloved once upon a time
When September kissed my lips
One early evening as if to make them bleed

It was Paris, take sorrow over sorrows,
I wanted to die right there
I was dragging behind me
All of my unwritten poems

It was Paris, the Paris of my love
Every smile, each word a jar of secrets
As if I were all heart below to above
Shrouded in longing

It was Paris, the Paris of what time
Flying off with my fly-away life
Suddenly everything turned to memory
Love turned to lament

It was Paris, the Paris of night, of sorrow
Of the rain and of youth
Many thanks, for everything
That you withheld and offered