She left with the speed of a fighter jet
Of an atomic bomb, that devastates, that levels
She roamed the world, passing through again and again
Contempt in her voice, cocaine as a sole trace
The fear of emptiness and solitude didn't cross her mind anymore
She drowned in opium, at the Bermuda triangle
As short-lived as the turquoise at the bottom of swimming pools
She developed a taste for mixing champagne and aspirin
Like the pink ashes of a cigarette in the night
Like the vanilla smell of a flowery dress
Beautiful beautiful, evanescent
That of that of, of a wicked desire
Sleeping on a velvet and neon sofa
Softened by black lights, lemon coloured vertigo
They illuminate her photoshopped curves
No flaws, no anomalies, without a cloud, nothing but the sky
Finger on the trigger and snapping the lens into place
Fixing the ascending slope of her body to the horizontal*
Dazed by the floodlights and drunk lies
Blinded by fear and then the fantasies that are left to her
Like the pink ashes of a cigarette in the night
Like the vanilla smell of a flowery dress
Beautiful beautiful, evanescent
That of that of, of a wicked desire
Stone-faced, an ice-cube in the desert
Infallible beauty, celestial and unique
They're suffice for her to come real close to light
To burn there finally alive, embers then dust
She slashed her veins while watching the flowing blood
In the reflection of the Seine and its misty tricks
To plunge all in there, to forever drown
In forgetting the pipe dreams that consumed her, that killed her
Stopping the bleeding and the thousands of questions
That enter into her head, a concrete cage
Nooks, trenches, the throbbing madness
To maybe finally stop this fucking wicked desire