Je t’aime mélancolie

Feel like longing for

To see my life in bed

Like an idee fixe

Each time that I am told

That is the bind:

It grows up too fast

The weed is injuring

That's when I get the idea

A chance to feel pity

Feel like longing for

To see my life in bed

Like a bad idea

Haunting me at night — at night — at night

I savour at night

Thought of eternity

Weed is injuring

For it's never dying

Feel like longing for

To see my life messed up

Each time that I am told

That it is only weed

And then I say:

That a savage born

Does worth being esteemed

After all, she often thumbs her nose

At the “too well” mannered… hit out!

I have an idea

Of the morality

Liike a sad idea

But it's never dying

In sum that's it:

To please jalous ones

You need to be ignored

But then, but then, but then, as a result

God just got me all wrong, so what?