| Christian Dior, you wasted your life | |
| On aroma and clothes, fabric and dyes | |
| Christian Dior, you wasted your life | |
| On grandeur and style, and making the poor, rich smile | |
| You could have run wild on the backstreet's of Lyon | |
| Or Marseilles, reckless and legless and stoned | |
| Impregnating women or kissing mad street boys from Napoli | |
| Who couldn't even write their own name | |
| Christian Dior, you wasted your life | |
| Sensually stroking the weaves of a sleeve | |
| You could have run wild on the backstreet's of Lyon | |
| Or Marseilles, reckless and legless and stoned | |
| Impregnating women or kissing mad street boys from Napoli | |
| Who couldn't even spell their own name | |
| Oh, Christian Dior | |
| Oh, Christian Dior | |
| When you look at me, failure is all that you see | |
| I discipline my days just like Christian Dior | |
| I could've run loudly and proudly or forcible entry | |
| And morally bankrupt and never non-violent | |
| And drawn to what scares me, and scared of what bores me | |
| Years alone will never be returned, Christian Dior | |
| Lyonise maverick, ah | |
| Design if you can, ah | |
| The way to just be a man, ah | |
| To just be a man, ah | |
| Christian Dior | |
| Christian Dior | |
| Christian Dior | |
| Christian Dior |
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