every time i think of you
i get a shot right through
into a bolt of blue
it`s no problem of mine
but it`s a problem i find
living the life that i can`t leave behind
there`s no sense in telling me
the wisdom of a fool won`t set you free
but that`s the way that it goes
and it`s what nobody knows
and every day my confusion grows

every time i see you falling
i get down on my knees and pray
i`m waiting for the final moment
you say the words that i can`t say
i feel fine and i feel good
i feel like i never should
whenever i get this way
i just don`t know what to say
why can`t we be ourselves like we were yesterday
i`m not sure what this could mean
i don`t think you`re what you seem
i do admit to myself
that if i hurt someone else
then i`ll never see just what we`re meant to be

手端厚重的马克杯，入口是香浓的茶，入耳的是Frente干净温暖而稚嫩的声音，在冬日，无疑是种享受。
有这种声音的女孩总被想象成如水般清冽的；如阳光下旋转的膨膨裙，如被另一双手紧拥温暖一般美好；又如在楼梯口抽烟等里昂回家的玛蒂尔德。
木吉他的声音，在我听来，总是脆弱而暧昧的。合上一个声音，自言自语，无关于他人的。舞台在心里，一个人唱歌起舞，不管有没有观众，孤寂到谢幕，一场又一场。
偶尔温暖，亦只是回忆带来的刹那感动；偶尔哼唱，算是欢喜，带不走的，只好努力记得，两不相忘。
一种唇齿相依的温情缓缓淌出，就像玛蒂尔德与里昂一起生活的那段好日子。