I'm telling you about a time
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That kids under twenty
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Montmartre back then
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Right under our windows
And if the humble boarding room
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That's where we met
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It meant we're happy
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We only ate every other day
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We never stopped believing
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For a good hot meal
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It meant you're pretty
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And we all had genius
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Pulling all-nighters
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How we had to love each other
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It meant we're twenty
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And we lived on air alone
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When by chance some day
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I go take a walk
Either the walls or the streets
At the top of a staircase
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Of which nothing's left
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We were young, we were crazy
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It doesn't mean anything anymore at all