With that face a little like this
That expression a little like this
That we have before going to Genoa
And every time we ask ourselves
If that place where we go
Doesn't swallow us up, and we never return
And yet we are somewhat relatives
Of those people who are there
Which, like us, is perhaps a little wild but
The fear that that dark sea gives us
And which also moves at night
It never stays still
Genoa for us
We live at the bottom of the countryside
And we rarely have the sun in the square
And the rest is rain that soaks us
Genoa, I was saying, and a 'idea like any other
But that face a bit like this
That expression a bit like this
That we have
While we look at Genoa
/>And every time we smell it
And we move cautiously
We feel a little stray
Macaia, monkey of light and madness
Mist, fish, Africa, sleep , nausea, fantasy
And in the meantime, in the shadows of their wardrobes
They keep linens, and old lavenders
Leave us, return to our storms
Genoa, its days are all the same
/>In a still countryside
With the rain that drenches us
And the red prawns are a dream
And the sun is a yellow flash on the parabrise
With that do a little like this
That expression a little like this
That we have
That we saw Genoa

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