To the flambeau candles that cast effulgence on the walls inclosed in brick lay
imagine us there
Walking lightly over cobble stoned streets
Speaking in the verse of a famous line of Yeats
imagine us there
Hands entwined, engulfed in silence, soaking in the splendor of art
Stepping into the history of ten thousand years, past remnants in architectural part
imagine us there
Tombstones of the conquered and beseeched, lovers and emperors
Let my life be buried here in the soil, next to yours- the hand of a magical rebirth by a conjuror
imagine us there
Lay down with me in the streets of the Boulevard Montmartre and get lost under French skies
After all, you are my conquest, I live off of the vigorous life line deep within the soul of your eyes
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