 
to tell to the intimate friend; 
over the tea-cups and into the square 
the tongues has its desire; 
still waters run deep, my dear, 
there's never smoke without fire. 
Behind the corpse in the reservoir, 
behind the ghost on the links, 
behind the lady who dances 
and the man who madly drinks, 
under the look of fatigue 
the attack of migraine and the sigh 
there is always another story, 
there is more than meets the eye. 
For the clear voice suddenly singing, 
high up in the convent wall, 
the scent of the elder bushes, 
the sporting prints in the hall, 
the croquet matches in summer, 
the handshake, the cough, the kiss, 
there is always a wicked secret, 
a private reason for this
 
| 1 | You Belong To Me | 
| 2 | J'arrive A Toi | 
| 3 | L'excessive | 
| 4 | Chez Keith Et Anita | 
| 5 | Tout Le Monde | 
| 6 | L'amour | 
| 7 | Le Ciel Dans Une Chambre | 
| 8 | Those Dancing Days Are Gone | 
| 9 | Chanson Triste | 
| 10 | Le Plus Beau Du Quartier |