O chanteuse you croon now what we desire
Is
distance you sing we need a village
That
waits off on a horizon a slate-roofed town
That
won’t come any closer and I say look!
These
perilous flagstones lead to a gate
That
you call a cornea but I call my Muse
(You
do not always know what I am feeling)
You
hum O baby don’t be that way don’t
Feel
fluish and woozy (floozy?) baby you need
Some
Jewish medicine—chicken soup and long
Boring
stories about the struggle of your ancestors!
I
say my people forgot almost everything alas
But
that’s okay because I listen to Nouvelle
Vague
and make up my own dammed tales!
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