The girl lays on the ground Silence in her mouth and crickets in her ears. Her white dress shines and grass embraces her Death omen.
There’s someone at my door He’s knocking all along. He keeps shouting “mon trésor” I don’t want to open, oh no But the shouting goes on, “mon trésor, mon trésor”…
As time passes by I realise my condition. And I sing songs whose words I don’t know, And I dream of things I will never own. I’m stuck here.
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