| Wait at the car
|
| Open my door
|
| Some gesture that men used to do
|
| On your skin as usual
|
| Only first rate material
|
| How can rebels be so kind and virtuous
|
| Like a gallant knight you ride me fast
|
| From Nancy to the Lac Léman
|
| And by the way you grab my hand
|
| And fall into the sand
|
| I know you are not dangerous
|
| You write on screen like someone
|
| From two hundred years ago
|
| That the storm in Gatwick has gone
|
| But blowing madly in our hearts
|
| How can rebels be like that
|
| And be so reliable
|
| Up to now a plane crash
|
| Was quiet fancy for my biography
|
| And when you beam with these blue eyes
|
| I never ever want to die
|
| I know you are a miracle
|
| We’re at the port my skirt is short
|
| It used to be political
|
| And I hope I really hope
|
| Bernhard could see us now |