Boulevard of the Madeleine,
Every single moment
I come here to sell my bouqets.
My works made by hands,
Like a couturiere,
I work in the flower shop there.
All my dear clients,
Their love to me's timeless.
And some of them, they go through miles
Just to meet and see my smile.
It's worth such big
And long trip...
If they come from abroad,
Don't you think it's because
They want to see my herbs,
Some carnations or roses
Or my violets from Parma?
They stop looking impressed
At my pretty florets.
But my elegant moves,
My smile is delightful,
They're more charming than flowers.
The florets that i have,
They come from anywhere...
But people who're smiling
While they say thanks to me,
That's a flower of Paris!
My hands, they are used to
Making buttonholes, though
There are many different ways.
I can't be apathetic
To the people' gazes that
Look at us so interestedly.
There's a special night dream
That always reminds me
Of Paris what it was in my infancy...
We look at the our past sadly,
This paradise is
Out of reach.
If they come from abroad,
Don't you think it's because
They'll go to Patheon
Or go to Butes-Chaumont
Or the big Notre Dame square?
It's quite a sale talk
And our only goal’s
To make people' eyes shine
Of our wonderful France,
Whose sweet flowers are women.
This Paris of old days,
We'll never forget them.
But what's always blooming
In our hearts so deep,
That's a flower of Paris!
