oh, you make this song flownnyou make it runnnlike my fingers down your spine. nnyou make it drool like the decadent winennqui coule de tes levres.nnnnoh, we met not long agonnbut our steps intertwinednnand our souls spoke their mindsnnas the intimate poems unwind.nnet coulent de tes levres. nnnnso let's not let a stereotypenndefine our love.nnoh, don't let me wipe these tears from my eyes.nndon't let me despise you yet. nnnnpas encorennpas encorenns'il te plaît, pas encore.nnnnoh, you make this song flownnlike the tea you designednntrickling slowly down my throat.nnlike the billows of smoke.nnqui coule de tes levres.