In Paris With You
Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful
And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.
I'm one of your talking wounded.
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.
But I'm in Paris with You.
Yet I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled.
And resentful at the mess I've been through.
I admit I'm on a rebound
And I don't care where are we bound.
I'm in Paris with You.
Do you mind if we do not go to The Louvre
If we say sod of you sodding Notre Dame,
If we skip the Champ Elysées
And remain here in this sleazy
Old hotel room
Doing this and that
Yo what and whom
Learning who you are,
Learning what I am.
Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk or Paris,
The little bit of Paris in our view.
There's that crack across the ceiling
And the hotel walls are peeling
And I'm in Paris with You.
Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.
I'm in Paris with the slightest thing to do,
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,
I'm in Paris with...all points South.
Am I embarrassing you?
I'm in Paris with you.
YOU ARE READING
rich man's world; charlie dalton
Fanfiction(𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙿𝙾𝙴𝚃𝚂 𝚂𝙾𝙲𝙸𝙴𝚃𝚈) Sigrid Taylor Hall is a sixteen-year-old girl with a big dream and an even bigger disagreement with her father. Fall of 59, she bakes her brother a batch of baked goods for the fourth year in a row and breaks int...
