The end of summer
And of the chatter in the bar
And of the glances inside the bar
The scent of her hair
Mom, what a stomachache
I can't move well

My melancholy is all your fault
My melancholy is all your fault
It's only yours, the fault is all yours
And of some eighties movie

Go away, this September
I want to go back to adoring you there
While you were biting the croissant
Your red Atala bike
That you pedaled only barefoot
With fingers full of sand

My melancholy is all your fault
My melancholy is all your fault
It's only yours, the fault is all yours
And of some eighties movie

My melancholy is all your fault
It's all your fault

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