one part out of my sight.
I search for you within your lair.
Where are you tonight?
Your friends are thin like models,
but ravenous like wolves.
One plays that ol' bad-ass flute,
wears loafers on his hooves.
Of course you blend in
when you’re nowhere to be seen,
but what you’re never wearing
betrays just where you’ve been.
You ache for Bordeau,
but all you drink is port.
You say it’s affectation
from that Alsace resort.
Desired in Crimea,
beloved in South of France.
All this trouble started
when you learned the Nero dance.
You're the light I read by,
but I can't turn you on.
Your switch is on the blink, I think,
and when I blink it's gone.
Where, oh where, are you tonight?
