Where do you go to my lovely?

You talk like Marlene Dietrich
And you dance like Zizi Jammaire
Your clothes are all made by Balmain
And there's diamonds and pearls in your hair

You live in a fancy apartment
On the Boulevarde St. Michel
Where you keep all your Rolling Stones records
And your friends of Sacha Distel, yes you do...

But where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
Won't you tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head

I've seen all your qualifications
That you got from the Sorbonne
And the painting you stole from Picasso
Your loveliness goes on and on, yes it does

When you go on your summer vacation
You go to Juan-les-Pins
With your carefully-designed topless swimsuit
You get an even suntan on your back and on your legs

And when the snow falls you're found in St. Moritz
With the others of the jet-set
Where you sip your Napoleon Brandy
But you never once get your lips wet

Your name is heard in high places
You know the Aga Khan
He sent you a racehorse for Christmas
And you keep it just for fun, for a laugh hahaha

They say that when you get married
It'll be to a millionaire
But they don't realize where you came from
And I wonder if they really care, they give a damn

I remember the back streets of Naples
Two children begging in rags
Both touched with a burning ambition
To shake off their lowly-born tags, and they try

So look into my face Marie-Claire
And remember just who you are
Then go and forget me forever
'Cause I know you still bear the scar, deep inside, yes you do

'Cause I know where you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
I can see all the thoughts that surround you
'Cause I can see inside your head

Peter Sarsted


Pindaro