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{typewriter
clicks fading in, gentle fingerpicked guitar}
Ta vieille machine à écrire,
left in my apartment Straight from the tortured poets,
what an arrangement I think the things I never say,
"Who uses keys like that?" Tu fais ton self-sabotage,
throwing spikes on the mat Mais j’ai vu cet épisode,
and I still love the show Qui d'autre peut te décoder?
Who else really knows?
{warm, observant, playful female vocal delivery} Qui va te tenir,
who’s gonna hold you like me?
Qui va te connaître,
if not me?
I laughed in your face,
I said it’s all just a skit Not Dylan Thomas,
nor Patti Smith—we’re modern idiots
Nobody.
No-fucking-body.
Personne d'autre. {intimate melodic resonant female vocal,
layered soft harmonies} Smoke and chocolate,
we're building the debris Charlie Puth,
l'artiste, we both agree
I scratch your head,
tu t'endors like a golden retriever
Awaken with the dread,
the nail-pounding fever Mais j’ai lu ce scénario,
you come undone I chose this cyclone,
on est deux, on est un.
{rhythmic candid female vocal delivery} Sometimes,
I wonder, est-ce qu'on va tout gâcher?
But we told our friends,
on est faits pour s'aimer.
Dinner in the city,
tu prends ma bague,
tu la changes de doigt And that’s the closest to my heart
exploding, moi et toi.
{music pulls back, intimate close-mic
feeling}
Who’s gonna hold you?
(Me).
Qui va te connaître?
(Moi).
100% Tiguidou, we're two modern idiots.
{typewriter keys stopping, final satisfied sigh}