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We packed up our books and our dishes |
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Our dreams and your worsted wool suits |
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We sailed on the 8th of December |
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Farewell old Hudson River |
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Here comes the sea |
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And love was as new and as bright and as true |
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When I loved you and you loved me |
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Two steamer trunks in the carriage |
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Safe arrival we cabled back home |
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It was just a few days before Christmas |
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We filled our stockings with wishes |
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And walked for hours |
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Arm and arm through the rain, to the glassed-in cafe |
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That held us like hot house flowers |
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Living in Paris, in attics and garrets |
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Where the coal merchants climb every stair |
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The dance hall next door is filled with sailors and whores |
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And the music floats up through the air |
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There's Sancerre and oysters, cathedrals and cloisters |
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And time with its unerring aim |
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For now we can say we were lucky most days |
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And throw a rose into the Seine |
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Love is the greatest deceiver |
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It hollows you out like a drum |
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And suddenly nothing is certain |
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As if all the clouds closed the curtains |
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And blocked the sun |
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And friends now are strangers in this city of dangers |
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As cold and as cruel as they come |
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Sometimes I look at old pictures |
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And smile at how happy we were |
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How easy it was to be hungry |
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It wasn't for fame or for money |
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It was for love |
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Now my copper hair's grey as the stone on the quay |
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In the city where magic was |
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Living in Paris, in attics and garrets |
|
Where the coal merchants climb every stair |
|
The dance hall next door is filled with sailors and whores |
|
And the music floats up through the air |
|
There's Sancerre and oysters, and Notre Dame's cloisters |
|
And time with its unerring aim |
|
And now we can say we were lucky most days |
|
And throw a rose into the Seine |
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And now I can say I was lucky most days |
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And throw a rose into the Seine |
