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“I am like a corner shop, selling you something you shouldn’t buy. And you are like Paris on a busy night, where only the city lights shine. And I’m here in your crowd, where i can bearly stand, but here you are holding my hand. And though we are worlds apart, no one would believe; you wear ties, and I wear jeans. Looking into those blue eyes, your fingers across my skin. Baby they say that we have crossed the line. But my ice was already thin. Eleven, eleven a day, and know one really knew, that I had wished, I wished for you. And no matter what, they will talk, when we’ll just paint the scene; so just wear your tie, and I’ll wear my jeans.”