I'm talking about a time nobody under 20 can know
Montmartre back then
And if the humble boarding house that served as our nest didn't look like much
That's where we met
Me starving and you posing nude
That meant we're happy
We ate only every other day
In the cafés nearby, there were a few of us
With empty bellies, we never stopped believing
And when some bar, for a good hot meal
We recited verses, huddled round the stove, forgetting winter
That meant "You're pretty"
And we were all geniuses
In front of my easel, spending sleepless nights
Touching up the curve of a breast, the swell of a hip
And only at dawn would we finally sit before a café-crème
We had to love each other and love life
That meant we were 20
And we lived on nothing but air
When, on some random day, I go for a walk to my old address
I don't recognize the walls or the streets that saw my youth anymore
At the top of a stair I look for the studio that no longer exists
Montmartre seems sad and the lilacs are dead
We were young, we were crazy
It doesn't mean anything at all anymore