here’s the foreign son on holiday
meeting her eyes about halfway
a look.. you know it’s killed many men
and i’ve been all of them inside a week
see the man in the bar he got too drunk to speak
he endures that song, mundane as it is, 
days in a dream that wasn’t his
night’s up at the top of the lift where continents drift
too far away to keep it together for long
this half-holiday
from the bar they walk to place pigalle
a taxi wave-down, goodnight, sleep well..
now it’s just a step to the door 
where he wants all the more to take her away
out of this temporary half-holiday