I like you
|
And you like him
|
And he likes me
|
And we all love each other.
|
We like to sit in the cafe
|
And eat and drink and talk all day
|
And watch the sun.
|
We like to read the newspaper
|
And talk about him and her
|
And who is getting along with who these days,
|
And when the sun goes down
|
We walk along the cobblestone ground.
|
|
He loves the city
|
With the bricks and broken bottles
|
And the pretty little flowers
|
As they grow against the wall.
|
He is dark,
|
He is tall,
|
He is the tallest one of all
|
Of us.
|
You are bright and quick and fair
|
And seems that you have lost some hair
|
But this is all right.
|
This is OK. We do not mind.
|
We write and fight and sing
|
And this is fine.
|
|
We drink the wine
|
If we get it free
|
And if he buys you a coffee
|
He can surely buy some for me
|
And one day we will work real hard
|
And get a job
|
And not just sit here
|
Writing letters
|
On this silly boulevard.
|
And everyone will know our name
|
And we'll be rich
|
Or we'll at least
|
Have some kind of fame.
|
We'll be brave,
|
We'll be bold,
|
We'll come riding through
|
Like knights of old.
|
|
The sun is like
|
A lover's hand
|
As it comes down
|
And touches you
|
Touches me
|
Touches him
|
Touches you.
|
And we have all got dirty feet
|
From wearing sandals in the street,
|
And we should all go home.
|
But still you will
|
Insist insist
|
Until each last one has been kissed
|
And each one is happy.
|
And when the sun goes down
|
We walk along the cobblestone ground.
|
This is OK. We do not mind.
|
We write and fight and sing
|
And this is fine.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Boulevardiers
|
| Suzanne Vega |
