Look, my cigarette is burning

I inhale the smoke and I think of you.

I'm tired of waiting behind closed doors,

Now the doors are open.

Will you come?

I'm waiting.

I stared at the wide-opened door,

I'm waiting.

The ash of my cigarette fell,

Burning the Bergere

But I don't care.

All I can think about is the possibility that you'll be able to walk through the door I've opened wide.

And I like to live with that possibility

What does it matter if an armchair burns?

The armchair can't burn like me.

Let it burn, let the whole city catch fire if necessary.

Anyway, where were we,

Will you be back?

Hande Okan