I'd hit the rocks,
I was drinking Scotch and ice,
But you looked nice, lipstick and curls
as those rouge curtains drew back,
Dressed in red to the nines
And the strings struck up,
And your hair all bunched with a pin,
And my mind wandering.
The man with the flute of fizz took a dance,
To the soft sounds of romance,
Violins accompanied the waltz,
And clarinets carried me off,
I'd hit the rocks,
I was drinking pianos and ice,
But you seemed nice, eyeshadow girl
All pink powders and smiles,
Cracked black and white to the dimes.
And the stage struck up,
And the woodwind brash and breezing by,
And your last smile goodbye,
The man with the flute of fizz took a chance,
To the wrecked sounds of romance,
Violins accompanied my sighs,
Cassinova carried you off.
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2 comments:
How many lazy, sultry, sexy, jazz-dependent, sleepy trombones must she let the band play, before falling in slow motion to me?
Big, thunderstorm violins and other strings, plucking springtime things.
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