There’s a city they buried Under a ton Panama hats
during the rum And brandy strike
Where you go in high and come out low
Are you the kind of girl whom likes
To roll under comets at night.
What would one call a castle in this part
Of town and would you mind if I told You
That you reminded me of those Art Deco girls.
If I was to ask would you like the last dance
Through the leafs as I’m heading for home.
Recoiling the archive the last chiffon honey
saut de chat by with perfumed ease.