| My dream every night spans the horizons
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| Over there, there is the Butte, the Butte and its houses
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| Le Rochechouart, Pigalle, bars and tobacconists
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| There's cinema, there's life and night over all that...
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| And then there's the Caulaincourt
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| Where the girls of love roam
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| And among those girls there
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| There's my Irma, My kid...
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| She's far away but I believe
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| That she always thinks of me
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| And she finds the time long
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| At the end of the bridge, my child
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| I can tell it to myself, I don't believe it, I don't believe it anymore
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| I have the cockroach and that's it and there is no anturlu
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| There are no songs that last, I can tell it to myself
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| Hope less than there is, more than it's heavy to bear
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| I see the Caulaincourt again
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| Where the girls of love roam
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| And among those girls there
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| There's my Irma, My kid...
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| Sounds like she hears me
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| My Irma waiting for me
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| And his heart answers me
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| From the end of the bridge, my child
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| All the same to suppose, all of a sudden if I came back
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| It would be like who would say, it would be fourteenth of July
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| What a party, what a night, what a boom, what a sky and what a java |
| My knees are shaking like he's there
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| All Montmartre with me
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| Would ignite his joy
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| In green in red in blue
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| Like a big fire
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| From Bengal
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| We would dance in the streets
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| And I will believe what I no longer believe
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| That the Good Lord for sure
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| Finally reigns over Pigalle |