Greet me in my entrance,
oh darling France,
With your wit and your gaze, mystic;
with your facade, angelic
Dance with me, fine country
As to you, I sing deeply
While in absinthe we speak,
And our senses grow weak,
Come with me as to serve your pleasure
To points that no one can measure,
To a point of insanity if you leave,
and with it, melancholy I receive
But alas, no more are you there,
you leave my mind and soul bare,
Turning what was once a sweet ambiance,
into a bitter memory and grievance...
As such, I enter the familiar trance
of a bitter-sweet romance.
Oh what an odd ambiance!
To be without dear France