| A lady known as Paris, Romantic and Charming
|
| Has left her old companions and faded from view
|
| Lonely men with lonely eyes are seeking her in vain
|
| Her streets are where they were, but there’s no sign of her
|
| She has left the Seine
|
| 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 warm and gay
|
| No matter how they change her, I’ll remember her that way
|
| I’ll 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 our Paris bright
|
| 'Til the town went dark |