| What, me worry?
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| I never do
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| I’m always amused and amusing you
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| Sans le fear of impending doom, life is like banquet food: pleasure to peruse
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| Do I amuse you, dear?
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| Would you think me queer if while standing beside you, I opted instead to
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| disappear?
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| Disappear
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| In no hurry, I’ll sing my tune
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| All my skies the hue of a ruddy bruise
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| In my finest threads couture, I’ll call up my favorite muse for a drink—half
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| full—or two
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| Have I abused you, dear?
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| You have had it to here
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| You say, «Love is just a blood match to see who endures lash after lash with
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| panache.»
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| In the spring, I’ll dust off my lute, stuff my suitcase full of blues,
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| and I’ll stir the dust underneath the thrust of my clicking heels
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| C’est la vie
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| What, me worry?
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| I never do
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| Life is one charming ruse for us lucky few
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| Have I fooled you, dear?
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| The time, it’s coming near when I’ll give you my hand and I’ll say, «It's been grand, but… I’m out of here.» |