[Intro] (vinyl hiss, faint trumpet) Bonsoir… listen close. [Verse 1] In a little shop where the streetlights sigh, I sell you a sparkle, a borrowed sky. Crystal in my palm, it remembers your name— Not the one you use… the one you became. You ask me for hope like it’s something I stock, But hope is a ghost in a velvet box. [Pre-Chorus] I speak it lightly, like sugar in tea, A casual prophecy… “c’est la vie.” Your future arrives with impeccable grace, Already dressed for its own embrace. [Chorus] I see the end in the gleam of a stone, I see your heart where it thinks it’s alone. Don’t look at me like I can change the design— I only read what the stars underline. And still… a tremor, a hairline crack, When someone dares to not turn back. Tell me, mon amour—are you mistake… or miracle? [Verse 2] Paris breathes slow, and the rain tastes sweet, Footsteps of strangers on cobblestone beats. They bring me their sorrows, their wars, their vows, And I nod like a saint who forgot how. I learned too early: the script doesn’t bend, So I traded my “self” for a quieter end. [Pre-Chorus 2] I smile, I shrug, I let fate perform, A goddess of victory riding the storm. But victory is lonely when you always know— Every “bonjour” hides a last “au revoir.” [Chorus] I see the end in the gleam of a stone, I see your heart where it thinks it’s alone. Don’t look at me like I can change the design— I only read what the stars underline. And still… a tremor, a hairline crack, When someone dares to not turn back. Tell me, mon amour—are you mistake… or miracle? [Bridge] (drop to Rhodes + whispers) If fate is a river, I’m standing too high, Watching the drownings, pretending I’m fine. But you— You move like a question in perfect ink, You make me hesitate… you make me think. [Final Chorus] (cinematic lift, trumpet + choir pad) I see the end in the gleam of a stone, But you pull new light from the unknown. Don’t swear to me you’ll obey the line— Break it gently, darling… give me a sign. And if tomorrow is already mapped, Then let your heartbeat be the gap. Tell me, mon amour—are you mistake… or miracle? [Outro] (glass chimes) A prophecy… can be a prison. Or a door.
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