Saturday, January 21, 2006

In Paris With You

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful
And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.
I'm one of your talking wounded.
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.
But I'm in Paris with you.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled
And resentful at the mess I've been through.
I admit I'm on the rebound
And I don't care where are we bound.
I'm in Paris with you.

Do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre
If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,
If we skip the Champs Elysées
And remain here in this sleazy

Old hotel room
Doing this and that
To what and whom
Learning who you are,
Learning what I am.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,
The little bit of Paris in our view.
There's that crack across the ceiling
And the hotel walls are peeling
And I'm in Paris with you.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.
I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,
I'm in Paris with... all points south.
Am I embarrassing you?
I'm in Paris with you.

James Fenton


At 10:16 AM, Blogger Winter said...

Ooh I read this last night and thought of you ... not that I suspect you of doing all sorts to people in Paris hotels of course.

At 11:36 PM, Blogger Andygrrl said...

Hm, well maybe you *should* be suspicious....;-)

At 8:52 PM, Blogger Katie (Kinney) Stegeman said...

Hey anne-
I need to send you an important email. can't remember if your address is:
you can email it to me if you want.


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