Wait at the car
Open my door
Some gesture that men used to do
On your skin as usual
Only first rate material

How can rebels be so kind and virtuous
Like a gallant knight you ride me fast
From Nancy to the Lac Léman
And by the way you grab my hand
And fall into the sand
I know you are not dangerous

You write on screen like someone
From two hundred years ago
That the storm in Gatwick has gone
But blowing madly in our hearts

How can rebels burn like that
And be so reliable
Up to now a plane crash
Was quiet fancy for my biography
And when you beam with these blue eyes
I never ever want to die
I know you are a miracle
We're at the port my skirt is short
It used to be political
And I hope I really hope
Bernhard could see us now