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In St-Cyrille-de-Wendover
There are no curves
In St-Cyrille-de-Wendover
It must not be that way angry
In St-Cyrille-de-Wendover
I'm thinking
The look and the two colors
Of our bobsleigh
In St-Cyrille-de-Wendover
Your absence is eating away at me
Since I no longer have a partner
I go sledding
In St-Cyrille- de-Wendover
The winters are long
Since I no longer have a partner
I go skeleton riding
Every time the frost sticks to the windows
I see your number again
I wish there was a storm
Or I blow in the porthole
When I see it appear
I feel a little more at ease hot
Every time the frost sticks to the windows
I see your number again
I think back to the descent
And then everything stops
When the plate incandescent
It falls on your head
I placed your equipment
At the top of the podium
When I think about it, I feel a twinge
br/>Below the sternum