Upon the burbon hill
The drunkest street on the planet,
There lives a woman
A warrior-like tidal wave
Dressed in pink and blue shivers,
She walks like she\'s confident
Across the grandeur ball
It is the year 1897
Two souls touch each other defiantly;
Behold the two kisses
That match the glass of wine,
A seductive piece of art
That is hanging on the wall
Such historic lines
Breaks three generations
For the waters of chisleu speak...
Good morning my loves
For two souls exist
Such exquisite men and women agree,
This grandeur ball
Has many dresses
Behold the savard moon and its curses
And what is breakfast
Without a spiritual bath?
Let the waters of chisleu speak, for they speak currently
Defiant lives define the works of art...
O kiss me, you fool
The slaughter rain hits the sun
For the sun is a role contrived
What shall speak to me in a movie?
And upon that burbon hill
Two souls feel another,
And the streets boggle up the riot
That speaks of women of change,
For the men are steadily watching...
I have a confession, my morning chisleu
For I too am a woman of the world
And privately I own these things
For my diamond has turned into a pearl,
I now drink my own water
For there is no poison here
So power to 1897...I was never born again.