Elle est d'ailleurs
Pierre Bachelet
She is from elsewhere
She has those lights deep in her eyes
That make blind or in love
She has gestures of perfume
That make beast or make dog
And so distant in her heart
For me it's certain
She is from elsewhere
She has those ways of saying nothing
That speak at the end of memories
That way of crossing
When she goes to the butcher
When she reaches my height
For me it's certain
She is from elsewhere
And I fell into slavery
Of this smile, of this face
And I tell her take me away
And I am ready for all the wakes
To other places, other shores
But she passes by and doesn't answer
Words for her are worthless
For me it's certain, she is from elsewhere
She has her long lace hands
To damn the soul of a Vermeer
That Venetian silhouette
When she leans on her shutters
This gesture I know by heart
For me it's certain
She is from elsewhere
And I fell into slavery
Of this smile, of this face
And I tell her take me away
And I am ready for all the wakes
To other places, other shores
But she passes by and doesn't answer
Love for her is worthless
For me it's certain
She is from elsewhere
And I fell into slavery
Of this smile, of this face
And I tell her take me away
And I am ready for all the wakes
To other places, other shores
But she passes by and doesn't answer
