In the hush of evening. As shadows steal across my lonely room. I think of you. Of lovely you. From a far the music. Of violins come softly through the gloom.
I love paris in the spring time. I love paris in the fall. I love paris in the summer when it sizzles. I love paris in the winter when it drizzles. . I love paris every moment.
I get no kick from champagne. Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all. So tell me why should it be true. That I get a kick out of you. . Some like the perfume from Spain.
I feel a sudden urge to sing. Tthe kind of ditty that invokes the spring. So, control your desire to curse. While I crucify the verse. . This verse I've started seems to me.
It's the wrong time and the wrong place. Though your face is charming it's the wrong face. It's not his face but such a charming face. That it's all right with me.
I've got you under my skin.. I've got you deep in the heart of me.. So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me.. I've got you under my skin..
Every time I look down on this timeless town. Whether blue or gray be her skies. Whether loud be her cheers or whether soft be her tears. More and more do I realize.
Verse:. My story is much to sad to be told. But practically everything leaves me totally cold. The only exception I know is the case. When I'm out on a quiet spree, fighting vainly the old ennui.
I am dejected. I am depressed.. Yet resurrected and sailing the crest.. Why this elation, mixed with deflation?. What explanation? I am in love.. . Such conflicting questions rise.
It's the wrong time. And the wrong place. Though your face is charming. It's the wrong face. It's not her face. But it's such a charming face. That it's alright with me.