In the silent morning dawn,
When the smoke smells of memories,
A candle flickers-then is gone.
A light goes out behind her eyes,
Her face goes blank in a rush of flame.
No more will the world see the tears that she cries,
That waters the slums and dark Paris ground.
The young fury who ran blind though long muggy nights.
The child is lost now, cannot be found.
And nobody remembers, no, nobody remembers.
The one who watered the flowers with tears.
Who was a goblin that appeared from languid gloom,
And only cried in the dark where the lonely wind hears.
Born in love and raised with care,
A pampered child of indulgence and spite.
But then she looks and see's that there's nobody there.
Thrust into life so young, she can't help but change,
And that pretty laughing child is lost to her now.
But so few notice this metamorphosis so strange,
And nobody will remember. No, nobody will remember.
She was a gamin born from mist and loss,
Who followed a man to a garden gate.
Who protected her true love whatever the cost,
And snuck slowly away under the wing of the night.
A fallen flower who watched from ever afar,
And gazed without regret at the receding light.
Who intercepted a message, delivered a letter.
Followed the schoolboys who followed a flag,
Hoping this was the way her life could be better.
But she's dead and nobody will remember, no, nobody will remember.
But the city remembers, yes, the city remembers.
Remembers the girl on shadow-soft feet down the path,
Who made little noise as she watched herself spiral down.
Whose raspy voice echoed the young childish laugh,
Which rang through the years, a tormentor, a ghost.
The girl who jumped in front of a bullet for one who cared not,
And died in the arms of the one she loved most.
Corrupted by pain, her love bright as day,
Who screamed through the silence and tried to be strong.
Now the wind has drifted this specter away.
But the city remembers, yes, Paris always remembers.