I will find my way back to you on Montmartre’s cobblestone streets.
Imagine Hemingway right next to us, rambling on about his moveable feast.
Like free-spirited birds, I will race you to the top of Sacré-Cœur.
Before you can catch your breath,
I promise the view would steal it once more.
I want to see every inch of the Louvre, we would probably get lost for days;
But we are smiling like fools, I bet it would put Mona Lisa to shame.
We can stroll along the Seine, and haggle with bouquinistes near Notre Dame.
I will find an artist to paint you,
But first show me how a monsieur should love a madam.
I utter a prayer at Sainte-Chapelle, as I immortalize you in stained glass.
Maybe as we wander aimlessly along Champs-Elysées, Degas would teach us how to dance.
I will tell you all my secrets, the way kings and queens did once.
Even Rodin would call it treason not to cast these two lost souls in bronze.
We can have a picnic at the Tuileries, and you can bring me flowers from Monet's backyard.
I will make a wish before they wilt; Don’t we all hope for the best before we die?
And right here in the in-betweens, we have love to keep us alive,
As foolish and innocent as the way Picasso painted like a child.
Seasons are changing, and soon we will say goodbye.
The Tour Eiffel glistened in all its glory as darkness fell on the city of lights.
Paris, it has been an honor to love and be loved by you.
In a few years or maybe in a heartbeat—
I will come home to you soon.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 3:28 AM UTC
I will find my way back to you on Montmartre’s cobblestone streets.
Imagine Hemingway right next to us, rambling on about his moveable feast.
Like free-spirited birds, I will race you to the top of Sacré-Cœur.
Before you can catch your breath,
I promise the view would steal it once more.
I want to see every inch of the Louvre, we would probably get lost for days;
But we are smiling like fools, I bet it would put Mona Lisa to shame.
We can stroll along the Seine, and haggle with bouquinistes near Notre Dame.
I will find an artist to paint you,
But first show me how a monsieur should love a madam.
I utter a prayer at Sainte-Chapelle, as I immortalize you in stained glass.
Maybe as we wander aimlessly along Champs-Elysées, Degas would teach us how to dance.
I will tell you all my secrets, the way kings and queens did once.
Even Rodin would call it treason not to cast these two lost souls in bronze.
We can have a picnic at the Tuileries, and you can bring me flowers from Monet's backyard.
I will make a wish before they wilt; Don’t we all hope for the best before we die?
And right here in the in-betweens, we have love to keep us alive,
As foolish and innocent as the way Picasso painted like a child.
Seasons are changing, and soon we will say goodbye.
The Tour Eiffel glistened in all its glory as darkness fell on the city of lights.
Paris, it has been an honor to love and be loved by you.
In a few years or maybe in a heartbeat—
I will come home to you soon.
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