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