There's this place hidden in the diseased capital
For some a one night home until the morning sun
Owned by the head of a weird and young mafia
The walls are made of records and obscure art, voodoo dolls
Ten years old posters, one thousand stories
Warm smile for a little rest before we fall
It feels even better than home
Last beers are served by the bedside
Helene asks for one more for the third time
It's not the Paris we've known
It kind of feels like home
There's this particular book we like to read
Pretty hard when you're drunk
The stories never end
It's filled with paintings and out of time fairy tales
The stopping points, the title doesn't make any sense
Extinct words and stupid morals acted with accents
The little hero has a weird little name, speaks with animals
German literature and Jägermeister make us laugh like stupid kids
Impossible to get the point
Words won't come out, as we try to read the full sentence at loud
Turn off the light and bring a few candles to emphasize the scene
Maybe get on the phone a far away friend so he could listen
To our theatre and great acting performance
Giggling, good night friends, thanks for the stories
Warm smile for a little rest before we fall