I'll follow you through the backyards
With the familiar smell of dog piss and rotting brick
Through Degas' coffee shops
That line the streets and alleyways
But we never made it that far
Did we bright star
Promise to send me a postcard from Paris, France?
If you ever make it there someday
In the sad solemn twilight march
You told me the best thing you ever saw
Was written on the wall of an inner-city bathroom stall
And it said
'After three long years I still haven't seen any flowers'
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