This particular song has been recorded by everyone from Sinatra to Bryan Ferry. The version I'm listening to now is from Frankie Laine's "Torchin'" CD. As a still-fairly-young guy, I find myself wishing there were more songs being written today that hold as much meaning.
A tinkling piano in the next apartment
Those stumblin' words that told you what my heart meant
A fairground's painted swings
These foolish things remind me of you
You came, you saw, you conquered me
When you did that to me
I knew somehow this had to be
The winds of March that make my heart a dancer
A telephone that rings but who's to answer?
Oh, how the ghost of you clings
These foolish things remind me of you
How strange, how sweet, to find you still
These things are dear to me
They seem to bring you so near to me
The sigh of midnight trains in empty stations
Silk stockings thrown aside, dance invitations
Oh how the ghost of you clings
These foolish things
Remind me of you.
*Emily can always tell if I've had a drink or two because I have a habit of microwaving two strips of bacon as a bedtime snack. Don't judge.
6 comments:
That IS nice. I've been into the white wine myself tonight and damned if bacon doesn't sound damned fine. :)
I'm meloncholy myself today....
Maybe its a pork thing. I alway want raw hot dog weiners when I'm intoxicated.
Microwave bacon? I haven't had the pleasure.
I like the clinging ghost line...No wonder I feel presences lurking everywhere:)
Microwave bacon? Whyn't you just slather down some mayonnaise?
(P.S. How many minutes? I might get hungry.)
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