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My story is much too sad to be told, |
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but practically everything |
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leaves me totally cold. |
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The only exception i know is the case, |
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when i'm out on a quiet spree, |
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fighting vainly the old enui |
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and i suddenly turn and see, |
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your fabulous face. |
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I get no kick from Champagne |
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Mere alchohol doesn't thrill me at all |
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so tell me why should it be true |
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that i get a kick |
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out of you |
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Some get a kick from cocain |
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i'm sure that if i took even one sniff |
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that would bore me terrificly too |
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yet i get a kick out of you |
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i get a kick every time i see you standing there before me |
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i get a kick though its clear to me you obviously don't |
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adore me |
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I get no kick in a plane |
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Flying too high |
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with some guy in the sky is my idea of nothing to do |
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Yet I get a kick |
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Out of you |
