Here's the foreign son on holiday Reading her lines about the way Looking though it's killed many men And I've been all of them inside a week See the man in the bar got too drunk to speak He adores that song, mundane as it is And days in a dream that wasn't his And that's about the top of the lift When continents drift too far away To keep it together for long, this half holiday From the bar they walk to place pigalle Taxi waved down, goodnight, sleep well Now it's just a step to the door And he wants all the more to take her way Out of this temporary half holiday