1,2,3,4...16 great balls of light thrown up High, Still higher, Higher again Knowing there was someone at the Bottom, Who stood watching, Concentrating, Hard And as the great balls of light Fell from the sky Seeming effortless, This magical, conjuring wizard Hurled them into the sky To float, Weightlessly, Once more.
We are this set of rogues. We are this dangerous Bixi gang. We are every pink bauble on Saint- Laurent. We will travel your streets for art, And stare at your murals until we suck the paint dry. We will breathe your festival air, And reap the rewards of its free festivities. We are breathing your clean city, And our eyes are pointed towards the sky, Because on our travels yet, Never did we feel so close to home.
And on Saint-Denis You will still find me hanging In the brightly coloured lights.