Rainy Streets of Paris

Remember the rainy streets of Paris?
When Odéon’s bookshop was our shelter
When walking on Paris’ roofs you were my Christ
When your lips tasted like salty butter
In the backyard of Saint Germain’s church you were restless
You sensually said “you’ll be my Mary and I’ll be your God”
But chéri, Coke was already your mistress
That bitch made you so different, so odd
I thought that Paris’ rain would take away my cry
We would have ended up old and happy in Tuscany
“I’ll leave her, I promise” you knew that was a lie
Secretly I knew you loved Her more than me
I didn’t know that little Jesus was already in my body
We both know that rehab is not a place for a baby.

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