that cafe...

the coffee is smooth...
the air is thick...
the sidewalks are aplenty...
the people are busy...

get lost in the city...
you'll find yourself...
buildings and houses mismatched awkwardly...
beauty, nonetheless...

seated at a cafe by the sidewalk...
what rue are you on, you don't seem to know...
spring keeps changing, you can't keep up...
waiting for the chill, it'll never come...

everyone's smoking...
you light one up...
you're not that chic...
only a parisian knows how...

the madame smiles at you...
you wonder why...
can't seem to fit in...
you don't know why...

mind your bonjour-s and your sil vous pliat-s...
that'll keep their noses at bay...
don't be one of those silly tourists...
always with their parle vous englais...

the city of blinding lights will keep you awake...
sunglasses don't seem to work unless you're francias...
no need for florescent or neon lights...
the city sparkles even late at night...

can't think of a perfect moment...
raindrops on my cigarettes, stray ash in my cafe kreme...
just like that the moment's past...
don't worry it be back...

out comes the umbrella how touristy of you...
the french just walk by without a clue...
in their overcoats they trotter by...
just another spring day in their life...

this is what i do most of the time...
at a cafe with my thoughts and pen...
the rain's getting heavier i need to leave...
i'll be back again when i need my caffeine...