Le magasin de porcelaine - Paris Combo

I’m in the mood for a rumble, a loud one

Often I’m told I overdo it

But here I am brooding and without warning it all swells up

In my crater

I’m a little volcano who seems nice but

If I you push me too close to the edge

Lava, lava, lava will come out

Lava, lava, lava there will be

And I will explode

Like a bat out of hell, it explodes, without me even trying

To stop the elephant at the door of the china-shop

Why would I want to control, politely polish

My bitter-sweet rough edges?

Nice round vowels, without the gift of the gab

Are not worth much to me

It’s the paradoxes, the contrasts, the shades of grey

And all the rest

That gave me my character

Storms, storms will come

Storms, storms, storms there will be

In my atmosphere

But when your hands, like flamingos' wings

Embrace my porcelain cheeks

Love, love, love there is

Love, love, love there will be

In S. T. O. R. E