There's this air in South France
So alive you can almost touch it
Soft enough, it blows away the candles
Numbered seats, train wagons, I wish I had taken with you

Warm hands on my frozen nose
a memory in red burning
Your arms, your hair, my cheeks

There's this air they call it Mistral
So loud and you can almost hold it
Light enough, it carries the grains of sand
Kaleidoscope films, sad endings, I wish you'd wipes away my tears

A stolen kiss in a forgotten dream
A wheel in Marseille, spinning
My scarf, my gloves, your lips