Parade is a burlesque spectacle of an embellished white shirts community visiting the scene.
They proliferate, they occupy the Harpe.
Later when the cocktails will be finished, they’ll drink red wine and dance till the dawn.
Meanwhile, the Gardian keeps an eye on his manade.
Wild mustangs are galloping while the Louqsor obelisk shines in the night.
Concorde merry-go-round highlights the Northwest American fields.
Those tall guys are city dwellers from the countryside.
We paint on tiles like Henri in Saint-Paul de Vence,
We draw on walls like our forefathers,
Przewalski horses are good friends of us u know.
Let’s have a drink, Parade is a sexual ritual.