| The gay lights of glamor
|
| Are darkened by drama
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| By the blues that I sing for my theme
|
| All the soft singing sisters
|
| And the torch bearing misters
|
| Who just come to listen and dream
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| The soft lights are glowing
|
| The champagne is flowing
|
| In each customer’s eye there is a gleam
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| They are the weary and the weepless
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| The sad-eyed and the sleepless
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| Who just come ot listen, and to dream
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| Now the black of th night
|
| Rings of blues in the night
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| Somehow thy both seem to belong
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| They’re the sad eyed and the gay ones
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| The real hip hooray ones
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| They hang on to each and every word of my song
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| For I sing of their drama
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| Their fast fading glamor
|
| And the blues that I sing is the theme
|
| For the soft singing sisters
|
| And the torch bearing misters
|
| Who just come to listen
|
| And they come to dream
|
| Blues for the weepers
|
| I said the black of the night
|
| Brings the blues in the night
|
| Somehow they seem to belong
|
| And the blues that I sing is a theme
|
| For the soft singing sisters
|
| And the torch bearing misters
|
| Who just come to listen
|
| And they come to dream |