DINNER WITH CHANTEL
© Krista Detor, Cover Their Eyes
Paris wasn't lit the way I thought it would be lit
A photograph or two – maybe a chance, a postcard view
But no sparkle in the wine – love to compare
It's just a city, another city, and paper falls out of the air
Newspaper ad, a playing card, a morning magazine, a candy wrapper
A crust of bread gone stale – an apple underneath the rail
The pavement grayer still, no shadow dancing upon it
And Paris wasn't lit the way it should be lit
Paris wasn't wine and cheese, no pretty fleur-des-lis
A sudden breeze, the leaves fell to the street and down among the ashes
Cold coq au vin, an old baguette – left on an empty bed
A busy city, oh mais oui, and children hide beneath the thread
A stolen beer shared on a bet, the tangled hair –
A cigarette is burning low
A secret kept in empty bellies, in the doorways hiding out
Like pebbles left upon the shore – spit from the sea
And Paris wasn't wine and cheese, no not for me
Paris never had me singing in the rain, no April rain –
No umbrella to dance under, no framboise with my champagne
No eyes that met at last – no reverie, no lovers' play
It's just a city by a river and cars go by, go on their way
A red tail light, a pa**ing glance, a foggy window –
And he looked like you, someone I knew from very long ago
Lights were sparkling low, the sweet tableau –
But was it Italy or Spain?
And Paris never had me singing in the rain…
No, Paris never had me singing in the rain…