Tout Le Monde y Pense :- Everyone thinks About it

Everyone thinks about it,
Men, angels, vultures,
There are no more distances,
No one has arms to short,
Everyone hopes,
Even at the back of backyards,
Every one wants their return ticket,
Of love, of love, of love, of love.

Its shine of luck,
The one that burns you floods you,
But the sky doesn't care,
Since there isn't one for everyone,
The emergency room is full of people,
Under the lights of the lampshades,
Waiting for their return ticket,
Of love, of love, of love, of love...

These angels that dance,
On floors wet with alcohols,
In those immense caves,
Hair stuck to their shoulders,
Take off in silence,
And scatter in the morning,
Looking for return tickets,
Of love, of love, of love, of love...

These woman who walk,
Clutching the children who throw,
Stones at soldiers,
It is a lost cause,
Stones against heavy helmets,
Just for return tickets,
Of love, of love, of love, of love...

Men, angels, vultures...
No one has arms too short...
Everyone thinks about it...


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