we skipped the light fandango
|
and turned cart wheels cross the floor
|
I was feeling kind of sea sick
|
but the crowd called out for more
|
the room was humming harder
|
as the ceiling flew a way
|
when we called out for an other drink
|
the waiter brought a tray
|
and so it was that later
|
as the miller told his tale
|
that her face at frist just ghostly
|
Turned a whiter shade of pale
|
|
she said there is no reason
|
and the truth is plain to see
|
But I wandered through my playing cards
|
and would not let her be
|
One of sixteen vestal virgins
|
who were leaving for the coast
|
and al though my eyes were open
|
they might just have well been closed
|
and so it was that later
|
as the miller told his tale
|
that her face at first just ghostly
|
turned a whiter shade of pale
|
|
-----------------
|
Whiter Shade Of Pale
|
| Procol Harum |
