In a little cafe a La Rue Du Soleil She happened to sit down beside me And sipping my tea made it easy to see Something was misplaced inside of me Is she looking at me? Is she there behind the wall? Is she made out of what's to be? Meaning is she there at all? In that little cafe I heard somebody say "Pardon Monsieur, may I have a light?" And starting to smile, I was changing my style She smiled back, it seemed only right She's looking past me At someone who's walking past me C'est la vie. C'est la vie...