Žodžiai dainai: Noel Coward. The Last Time I Saw Paris.

A lady known as Paris,
Romantic and charming,
Left all her old companions,
And faded from view.
Lonely men with lonely eyes
Are seeking her in vain.
The streets are where they were,
But there's no sign of her.
She has left the same.

The last time I saw Paris,
Her heart was warm and gay.
I heard the laughter of her heart
In every street cafe.
The last time I saw Paris,
Her trees were dressed for spring,
And lovers walked beneath those trees,
And birds found songs to sing.
I dodged the same old taxicabs
That I had dodged for years.
The chorus of their squeaky horns
Was music to my ears.
The last time I saw Paris,
Her heart was young and gay.
No matter how they change her,
I'll remember her that way.

I think of happy hours,
And people who shared them.
Old women selling flowers,
In markets at dawn,
Children who applauded
Punch and Judy in the park,
And those who danced at night,
And kept their Paris bright,
'Til the town went dark.

The last time I saw Paris,
Her heart was warm and gay.
I heard the laughter of her heart
In every street cafe.
The last time I saw Paris,
Her trees were dressed for spring,
And lovers walked beneath those trees,
And birds found songs to sing.
That I had dodged for years.
The chorus of their squeaky horns
Was music to my ears.
The last time I saw Paris,
Her heart was young . . . and gay.
No matter how they change her,
I'll remember her,
Happy,
That way.