In the city of lights
As day becomes night
In the home of the Michelin star
Produce gathered from near and far
Finds its way to palate and plate
Of those who live with a kinder fate
But it’s not in the restaurants I find my prey
On a bustling sidewalk but not a café
What I crave is sweeter
Than the most exotic of meats
I talk of course
Of the might force
Of the humble crepe
I’m dirty on a crepe
The way the French make
Lemon, butter, sugar
Or the local favorite; Nutella
It makes my heart sing
When I find this thing
On a cobblestone road
Let’s do it, let’s go
To Paris once more
That place I adore
Where a troubled man
Is never far from a crepe
High Seas Clothing 