L'allemand used to visit me in Paris, in ParisI remember the men, I remember the houses in ParisHis station nearby, I was his afternoonsWe didn't mind, we shared everything, everything, ParisHe'd come in looking for comfort, leave again looking to the left and the rightDid we see too much, say too littleStepping over every dark thingWould it all be true tomorrow?But he loves meFraming his face with my hands in the doorwayI try to decipher the friend from the foe in his eyesA man's skin will be blown back with time and confusion'Til it gathers by his ears in the same human shallows like sand at the seaDid he hear too much, say too littleCould any year recover what we lost in these?With the hum of the war in the run of the day, butI walk with my head held high and naked in the sunClaiming these streets for myselfI walk with my head held high and naked in the sunClaiming these streets for myself,AgainI am the unchanging narrative, I don't resolve neatlyAnd I am the unchained melody, the current of the need to surviveAnd I go on looking for comfort, I can no longer see to the left or the right, butI walk with my head held high and naked in the sunClaiming these streets for myselfI walk with my head held high and naked in the sunClaiming these streets for myself,Again.
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Written By BROOKE, JONATHA
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group