The sky was Bible black in Lyon
When I met the Magdalene.
She was paralyzed in a streetlight
She refused to give her name.
And a ring of violet bruises
They were pinned upon her arm.
Two hundred francs for sanctuary
And she led me by the hand.
To a room of dancing shadows
Where all the heartache disappears.
And from glowing tongues of candles
I heard her whisper in my ear,
"J'entend ton coeur,"
I can hear your heart.