Thibault

I walk my lobster Along the promenade On a fine sunny spring day Thibault he loves the Paris Tulieres is a fine garden Of naked bodies and wet fountains Past glories and royalty Dreamed their dreams, on these garden walks The melodies behind castle walls I dance with the goldfish The Queen of the ball I am not young, I am not twenty They tell me to go, I say Alizee? I hunger for you, I desire you Your image is the art of my thoughts I crave you, the pastry and the cream Under canopy, I hide such desires I am not afraid of you Yet I fear the arrow of loves wounds Let me taste not the blood of such losses I walk, with Thibault along the Seine I see you, far away, on the other shore A vision of le Puy, innocence and beauty The mist fades, the pot of life boils Thibault turns red, he knows The walk of life is about to end He cries, as his master remains in the dark I am not twenty anymore Note: Dedicated to Gérard de Nerval (1808-1855), this is a mix between old and new, poetry and lyrics, with a dash of whimsical in Alizee