Jake McAllister
2005-04-21 10:07:15 UTC
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Date: 21 Apr 2005 05:07:15 -0500
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Xref: number1.nntp.dca.giganews.com rec.arts.poems:489359 alt.arts.poetry.comments:452670
by Peter Sarstedt (1969)
You talk like Marlene Dietrich.
You dance like Gigi Jeanmaire.
Your clothes are all made by Balmain.
And there's diamonds and pearls in your hair.
You live in a fancy apartment
off the Boulevard Saint-Michel,
where you keep your Rolling Stones records
and a friend of Sacha Distel.
But where do you go to, my lovely,
when you're alone in your bed?
Tell me the thoughts that surround you.
I want to look inside your head.
I've seen all your qualifications
you got from the Sorbonne,
and the painting you stole from Picasso.
Your loveliness goes on and on.
When you go on your summer vacation,
You go to Juan-les-Pins.
With your carefully designed topless swimsuit,
you get an even suntan
on your back, and on your legs.
When the snow falls you're found in Saint Moritz
with the others of the Jet Set.
And you sip your Napoleon brandy
but you never get your lips wet.
But where do you go, to my lovely,
when you're alone in your bed?
Tell me the thoughts that surround you.
I want to look inside your head.
Your name is heard in high places.
You know the Aga Khan.
He sent you a racehorse for Christmas
and you keep it just for fun.
For a laugh, a-ha-ha-ha-ha
They say that when you get married
it'll be to a millionaire.
But they don't realize where you came from.
And I wonder if they really care.
Or give a damn.
Where do you go to, my lovely,
When you're alone in your bed?
Tell me the thoughts that surround you.
I want to look inside your head.
I remember the back streets of Naples;
two children begging in rags:
both touched with a burning ambition
to shake off their lowly-born tags.
They try.
So look in my face, Marie-Claire,
and remember just who you are.
Then go on, forget me forever.
But I know you still bear the scar.
Deep inside, yes you do.
I know where you go to, my lovely,
when you're alone in your bed.
I know the thoughts that surround you
'cause I can look inside your head.
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Date: 21 Apr 2005 05:07:15 -0500
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Xref: number1.nntp.dca.giganews.com rec.arts.poems:489359 alt.arts.poetry.comments:452670
Once in awhile, good poetry creeps into song lyrics. Who are the
songwriters? Share some of their lyrics. Oh and "name that tune" in
the subject line.
Where Do You Go To, My Lovelysongwriters? Share some of their lyrics. Oh and "name that tune" in
the subject line.
by Peter Sarstedt (1969)
You talk like Marlene Dietrich.
You dance like Gigi Jeanmaire.
Your clothes are all made by Balmain.
And there's diamonds and pearls in your hair.
You live in a fancy apartment
off the Boulevard Saint-Michel,
where you keep your Rolling Stones records
and a friend of Sacha Distel.
But where do you go to, my lovely,
when you're alone in your bed?
Tell me the thoughts that surround you.
I want to look inside your head.
I've seen all your qualifications
you got from the Sorbonne,
and the painting you stole from Picasso.
Your loveliness goes on and on.
When you go on your summer vacation,
You go to Juan-les-Pins.
With your carefully designed topless swimsuit,
you get an even suntan
on your back, and on your legs.
When the snow falls you're found in Saint Moritz
with the others of the Jet Set.
And you sip your Napoleon brandy
but you never get your lips wet.
But where do you go, to my lovely,
when you're alone in your bed?
Tell me the thoughts that surround you.
I want to look inside your head.
Your name is heard in high places.
You know the Aga Khan.
He sent you a racehorse for Christmas
and you keep it just for fun.
For a laugh, a-ha-ha-ha-ha
They say that when you get married
it'll be to a millionaire.
But they don't realize where you came from.
And I wonder if they really care.
Or give a damn.
Where do you go to, my lovely,
When you're alone in your bed?
Tell me the thoughts that surround you.
I want to look inside your head.
I remember the back streets of Naples;
two children begging in rags:
both touched with a burning ambition
to shake off their lowly-born tags.
They try.
So look in my face, Marie-Claire,
and remember just who you are.
Then go on, forget me forever.
But I know you still bear the scar.
Deep inside, yes you do.
I know where you go to, my lovely,
when you're alone in your bed.
I know the thoughts that surround you
'cause I can look inside your head.
----== Posted via Newsfeeds.Com - Unlimited-Uncensored-Secure Usenet News==----
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