WHERE DO YOU GO TO, MY LOVELY (Peter Sarstedt)

You talk like Marlene Dietrich and you dance like ZiZi Jeanmaire.
Your clothes are all made by Balmain and there's diamonds and pearls in your hair.
You live in a fancy apartment on the Boulevard of St. Michel,
Where you keep your Rolling Stones records and a friend of Sacha Distel.
But where do you go to, my lovely, when you're alone in your bed?
Tell me the thoughts that surround. I want to look inside your head.

I've seen your qualifications you got from the Sorbonne,
And the painting you stole from Picasso. Your loveliness goes on and on, yes it does.
When you go on your summer vacation, you go to the Juan-les-Pines
With your carefully designed topless swimsuit, you get an even suntan, on your back and your legs.
When the snow falls, you're found in St. Moritz with the others of the jet set,
And you sip your Napoleon brandy but you never get your lips wet,
But where do you go to, my lovely, when you're alone in your bed?
I want to look inside your head, yes I do.

Your name is heard in high places. You know the Aga Khan.
He sent you a racehorse for Christmas and you keep it just for fun, for a laugh, ha-ha!
They say that when you get married, it’ll be to a millionaire,
But they don't realize where you came from, and I wonder if they really care, they give a damn?
Where do you go to, my lovely, when you're alone in your bed?
Tell me the thoughts that surround you. I want to look inside your head.

I remember the back streets of Naples, two children begging in rags,
Both touched with a burning ambition to shake off their lowly brown tags, yes they try.
So look in my face, Marie-Claire, and remember just who you are,
Then go and forget me forever 'cause I know you still bear the scar, deep inside, yes you do.
I know where you go to, my lovely, when you’re alone in your bed.
I know the thoughts that surround you 'cause I can look inside your head.

Enjoy,
Kevin