I think Eiffel Tower is just a cemetery of love.
Under the tower, I saw myself being down on my knees with a withered red rose in my hands. I was looking up at her with tears running down my cheek.
Shouted I, silence followed.
My love was dead and I buried her somewhere underneath the Eiffel Tower, for people said she was a place of love. Perhaps, those lovers who visited her would leave some bits of their love before they left.
And perhaps one day altogether those loves could wake up my love.
Time passed, the air around the Eiffel Tower was filled with love.
Again I shouted, yet again silence followed.
Ils m’ont menti?
Suggested soundtrack: By the Roes, and by the Hinds of the Field by Jóhann Jóhannsson, Air Lyndhurst String Orchestra & Anthony Weeden