The Petite Wanderer

The world’s a stage, the spotlight’s unkind, A map of dreams in a vagabond’s mind. The globe spins wild, a sardonic jest, I chase horizons, mon cœur sans reste. I’m a gypsy queen with a suitcase heart, In Paris, I kissed a gargoyle’s art! Tokyo’s neon screamed, “You’re lost, ma chère!” I danced with shadows in a sake-soaked prayer. The Sahara whispered, “Sand’s your only friend,” I laughed, “At least it’s honest till the end!” From Rio’s samba to Berlin’s cold hum, I’m chasing meaning, but my map’s gone numb! The world’s a carousel, a kaleidoscope scam, Each border a riddle: “Who the hell am I, damn?” I’m a wanderer in a play with no end, No compass, no script, just a road that won’t bend! The curtain’s falling, but the exit’s a lie, So I’ll waltz with the world till the stars say goodbye! I sat by the Ganges, the river was wise, It murmured, “Your journey’s a mask in disguise.” In Reykjavik’s frost, I sang to the sky, “Why roam the earth if we’re all born to die?” The mountains don’t care, the oceans don’t speak, My soul’s a postcard, faded, antique. In Istanbul, I haggled with a ghost, He sold me dreams for a coin and a boast! Marrakech laughed, its spices a curse, “Your heart’s a bazaar, and it’s only getting worse!” The klezmer winds wail in a Moscow square, Fiddles and fate in the frostbitten air! I sprint through Rome, but the ruins just stare, They whisper, “You’re dust, ma fille, beware!” Travel’s a jest, a cosmic roulette, Each city’s a mirror, reflecting regret! I’m a wanderer in a play with no end, No compass, no script, just a road that won’t bend! The curtain’s falling, but the exit’s a lie, So I’ll waltz with the world till the stars say goodbye! Oh, la terre tourne, a merciless spin, From Kyoto’s shrines to the fjords’ bitter grin. I’ve tasted the world, its beauty, its pain, But every road loops to the same refrain! Pourquoi courir, why chase the unknown? The earth’s just a stage, and I’m dancing alone! In Havana, I smoked with a skeleton band, They played me a tango on bones in the sand! New York’s skyscrapers mocked from above, “You’re a speck, chérie, in this farce we call love!” I’ve circled the globe, but the joke’s on me, The world’s a cruel playwright, and I’m its marquee! So I’ll roam till the stars burn out in the night, A French girl lost in the world’s cruel light. Mon cœur est une valise, my soul’s on the run, The cosmic vaudeville plays till the curtain’s done.