The Den of Debauchery, or is it? – Memories Through the Eyes of my City

At one end of St-Catherine’s, where the streets are alive,

There’s a place where the music and madness collide.

Les Foufounes Electriques, they call it by name,

A den of debauchery, a temple of shame?

The walls are adorned with graffiti and art,

And the air is thick with the beat of the heart.

The patrons are wild, a riotous crew,

All searching for something, something that’s true.

And in the midst of the chaos, there’s a beauty to find,

A kind of magic that’s hidden from the mind.

A sense of belonging, a feeling of home,

In the heart of the city, where the lost come to roam.

And though the night may be dark, and the future unsure,

The music still plays, a sweet kind of lure.

A promise of freedom, a promise of light,

In Les Foufounes Electriques, where we dance through the night.