We'd dream of Paris
In possibly, all the ways it has been already
But this one is ours

You sit in the grass reading on Delacroix
Speaking up every now and again to spike my mind with your alcoholic knowledge
And you would succeed in intoxicating me with your passion
As you always have

We take our time and get lost in the city
Spill our glass hearts full of wine at night and get lost in each other
Not in the dream, but the truth
After all, who's to say there would be any time

And if there isn't, I'm content in knowing that cheap wine is enough
And that books can be read on any grassy knolls
And as long as I'm in your fast, talkative presence
I could get drunk on your passion whenever you flow