Jean Cocteau is covered in butter
The ghosts of Cappucino and Zaza hover
In the hallway where the devil and his lover
Beg you for change on the slide
There's nothing really like a French blues
Blown by an unknown soldier in you
To all your regrets and you rouse
I'll meet you down there when I try
And do you ever wonder
Where you go when you die?
Emile's Vietnam in the sky
Well, I'd take better care of your heart
You'll be opening a Sswiss bank account
Let go, it's over now, play your part
You'll be swinging those milk clouds on high