On the dark rhythm of a danceFull of dreams and wisdomThe woman gathers her memoriesEven the stupidest and boldestThere is in her a kind of skyA water of shipwrecks or a flightWhere there is justification and forgivenessAll her life, but barefootBlue TangoParis welcomes its artistsPaintings, babies, musiciansOffering everyone what they drinkWater to the river, full of snowIt is the illusion of hairWith art, living and dyingOn ancient flowers of skinFrom death to lifeAnd a lot of pain, a lot of painA lot of pain, a lot of painAmong the green shadows of a bovineTasting water at the tamarindThe man who has nothing to inventTry to dream, try to dreamAnd try the atoms and the starsAnd the fountains and the tilesAnd the Turkish bread and another roomBatut Orman, SvejntoleranceBlue tango, blue tango, blue tangoBlue tango, blue tangoTa-da-di-tam-ta-tam, blue tangoBlue tango, blue tango, blue tangoTa-da-di-tam-ta-tam, blue tangoTa-da-di-tam-ta-ta, blue tangoTa-da-di-tam-ta-tam, blue tangoTa-da-di-tam-ta-tam, blue tangoTa-da-di-tam-ta-tam, blue tangoTa-da-di-tam-ta-tam, blue tangoTa-da-di-tam-ta-tam, blue tangoTa-da-di-tam-ta-tam, blue tango