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Broughton-Mason |
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A kindly word for friends and strangers almost anyone she meets |
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A lonely house at the end of the road full of silly memories |
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And when the locals laugh at her she turns a blind eye to it all |
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She sees the irony and so what no-one really meant it |
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A grey old lady, touched and lonesome, just a little bit eccentric |
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But no-one sees the secrets hidden in a diary stowed beneath the stairs |
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Chorus |
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And she sat that night in her chair by the fire hearing his violin |
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Tears appeared and burned her cheeks as he caressed every string |
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As the dawn arrives to hurt her eyes the coals are growing dim |
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And when the room grows cold she still recalls every inch of him. |
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Germaine was a leggy lady, barely old enough to know how |
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To hold the right knife at the table it was difficult but somehow |
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She caught the eye of an evening pirate and he sailed his way into her heart |
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Her Valentino played violin till it was well into the night |
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Enjoyed her evening oh so much although she never ate a bite |
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So Cinderella lost her slipper to a Lilting, Latin Gigolo. |
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Chorus |
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And he stood that night by the tableside playing his violin |
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Tears arrived in Germaine's eyes as he caressed every string |
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As the day appeared with the tables cleared, she was still there listening |
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And she rose to go with her eyes still closed, but she paused to glance at him. |
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There was no-one there but her and as she sadly took her fur, she heard... |
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A little weary eyed, but smiling she wandered home... |
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alone. |
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Then every evening she came back to her table by the window |
