3 in the morning in Paris

he wore a tie with a starched collar,

and told me a thousand times

not to holler.

it seems i have no heart

since into the arms of the city of Paris

i went for a new start,

in through a half-French door

i went mostly to settle an old score.

stuffing myself with drink and smoke,

i got down to business;

headed south, went broke.

got to the corner of a crowded square

didn't know what to do when i got there!

but before i died,

i mounted a high horse and replied,

"My dear friends, I'm watching the death heads go by."

they kept swaying past exhaling a heavy sigh

at three in the morning.

i felt as strong as a bull!

without a fair warning

my face was made up like a laughing-stock fool.

it began to rain a thin winter mist.

a grieving woman nearby said she had never been kissed,

and i saw red and she saw blue.

what more can a color-blind boy do?

i straddled her stairs and flew

sniffing and tapping my heels in the street,

completely out of the chill and into the heat:

a vulgar nuisance and a potential cheat.

i jumped into a passing taxi and the hard back seat

leaving the warmth for some solitary cold,

i saw statues of soldiers charging cannons;

they fell young and bold.

my great black Mercedes flashing chrome

i finally escaped Paris and headed for Rome.