🎧 Track: Mademoiselle Mystique
🎸 Indie Rock × Jangle Pop × Post-Punk
🌦 Mood: Romantic Collapse • Parisian Irony • Groovy Longing

Description:
What do you get when you mix heartbreak, French literature, and an existential fashion show? You get Mademoiselle Mystique — a baguette-scented ballad for anyone who’s ever been ghosted by someone in ankle boots quoting Foucault.

She arrived late. She judged your Spotify playlist. She said “peut-être” with a shrug so elegant it should’ve been framed in the Louvre. Meanwhile, you wore your hoodie like hope and your heart like a club badge. Rookie mistake.

This isn’t just a breakup song. It’s a soirée of sighs with backup vocals from crushed masculinity and the ghost of your Google Translate history.
Think:
🥖 Paris, but the part where no one texts back
🍷 Wine, but with subtle contempt
🧥 Style, but emotionally unavailable
🗼 Love, but post-structuralist

🎶 Guitars that jangle like your nerves on a second espresso
🎶 Lyrics that stab with eyeliner precision
🎶 A chorus so catchy it might critique you in French

Warning: May cause spontaneous cigarette cravings, introspective walks by the Seine, and an overwhelming urge to reread The Second Sex while crying in a Zara changing room.

Press play. Regret nothing. Except maybe the oysters. 🦪💔

Lyrics:

You showed up late, with no apology
A scarf, some boots, and silent mythology
A cigarette waved like a wand in the air
I choked on the smoke, but you didn’t care

You spoke in quotes from Simone de Beauvoir
While fixing your bangs in a rearview car
I asked if you liked me, you said “peut-être”
Which is French for never, but with better hair

I wore my heart like a football crest
You wore your doubt like a vintage vest
And every shrug was couture despair
God, I fell in love with your vacant stare

🎶 Oui Mademoiselle Mystique
Elegance with great physique
A walking riddle wrapped in wine
You laughed and said, “don’t call me mine”
Oui  Mademoiselle Mystique
Cool detachment, tongue-in-cheek
I brought you flowers, you brought critique
Oh — you tragic, tonic, Gallic freak 🎶

You said you eat croissants without the guilt
And wear regret like designer quilt
I tried to match your existential grace
But my hoodie screamed “Midwestern face”

You read Camus and sipped Chablis
While I googled how to flirt in French for free
You kissed my neck with a sigh so light
It echoed louder than our final fight

You said “love is war, but make it chic”
Then vanished like a French boutique
Now all I have is your perfume ghost
And an overdraft from that Bordeaux toast

🎶 Oui Mademoiselle Mystique
Elegance with great physique
The queen of cold with lips so red
You left me texting while you read
Oui  Mademoiselle Mystique
A walking Vogue critique
I lost my pride in your boutique
Oh — you magnifique, Parisian freak 🎶

“I never said I’d stay,” you whispered…
Then ordered oysters and made a face when I mispronounced œufs.

🎶 Oui Mademoiselle Mystique
You made detachment so unique
I wore your silence like a badge
While you slow-danced with your carry-on bag
Oui  Mademoiselle Mystique
Bittersweet, tres magnifique
I wrote this song, you’d call it bleak
But darling…
I’m still stuck in your mystique 🎶

Mademoiselle Mystique

Hi there — welcome to my corner of the web.

I’m here for one simple reason: to share my music with you.
Take a listen, explore, and I hope something here resonates with you. Enjoy the vibe!

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