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Artiste:
Charles Aznavour
Titre:
And In My Chair
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He, he observes you from where he sits You, it unnerves you, you lose your wits He, he ignites you with eyes of flame You, it excites you, you like the game And I, in my chair, though I hardly speak I notice each innuendo And I, in my chair, I'm stricken with fear At seeing the end so near He, out to win you, he woos with style You, you continue to coyly smile He, with his quarry on hunting ground You, only sorry that I'm around... And I, in my chair, though I hardly speak I see just how well he's doing And I, in my chair, I'm trying to hide The dread that I hold inside He, his eyes flatter, your glances touch You, now you chatter a bit too much He, like a gypsy, he serenades You, you grow tipsy, your laugh cascades And I, in my chair, though I hardly speak My heart's on the verge of crying And I, in my chair, my heart understands My love is now changing hands No, no, it's nothing, perhaps a little tired only Not at all, why do you ask? On the contrary... This was a beautiful evening, yes, indeed, a beautiful evening.. (Grazie a Gianmaria Framarin per questo testo)