of the country without ever leaving home. It's a bit like Brazil dancing with Paris in the heart of a beautiful Sanova. I hear the gondoliers singing in my garden, Venice is still far, far away, but a chorus is enough for the great escape. It's a bit like Brazil dancing with Paris in the heart of a beautiful Sanova. From music to music, from verse to chorus, we travel faster than any other means. From music to music, we also imagine the shores of the Baltic, on the Quai de Bercy. On the bridge of the Alma, a lantern is spinning, and suddenly the clouds are flying away. Provence has come to lay some flowers on the steps of the Sacred Heart. The Spaniard and his guitar bring us the sun of Andalusia. But I leave Seville for another country where we dance the Sirtaki. From music to music, from verse to chorus, we travel faster than any other means. From music to music, we also imagine the shores of the Baltic, on the Quai de Bercy. From music to music, the stranger far from here wakes up in America under the sky of Paris.