I want to tell you a good story
About a girl who lived the euphoria
Of being part of rock
Drinking peppermint tea

Typically small-town mind
She didn't have the guts for the office
Subterranean place of routine ideology
Romantic, she sang her brightest poems
Whispering in my manager's ear
I love you, I hate you, give me more

Looking at the field, he forgot about the man
Looking at the rich, he dressed as a poor
In order to know
What the neighbors were gossiping about

On his head, he carries a flag
She doesn't want to be like anyone else
She loves to show
The straw of someone else's face

And, inside her story, she was Cinderella
Her prince was a hippie from the sixties
I love you, I hate you, give me more

He works at concerts
He writes postcards all the time
He sleeps with visitors
And plays with locals
His body has fat from the capitals stuck to it

I love you, I hate you, give me more
I love you, I hate you, give me more
I love you, I hate you, give me more