Description
There is a special art to leaving gracefully. Don't slam the door, don't tear up letters, don't make a scene. Just gather what dignity you have left, take a deep breath, and move on, even if everything inside is falling apart. Because how long can you keep playing the endless game of “what if this time”? It's diabolical to step on the same pink rake decorated with a ribbon of hope over and over again.
Everything is familiar: fire, heat, a deceptive spark, and then ashes and the faint smell of “too late.” And here it is, that very “Madame sait dire bye bye,” not restrained, but conscious. Without pathos, without drama, with a slightly tired but confident look. Just a lesson from the series “love is not a loan, the interest rates are too high.”
Lyrics and translation
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