If there was nobody watching, [1]
Dancing is the last thing I would do
I'd go find that nouveau French movie [2]
Where they do things that I couldn't do to you

If I had never been hurt
I'd (still) be loving you the way I do today
After the bruises have faded,
Jaded is a choice we make

I am inhibited, my repertoire is limited
Don't I need permission to go crazy on you?

You know I could beat you at tennis
With my backhand, and my forehand, and my serve
Too bad that the whipping you asked for
Was not my famous spinach cream hors-d'oeuvre
I hear that you want to be tied down
And I can do it in the most romantic way
With tapas and rubies and puppies —
Come on, baby, say the word

When you were thirty, you asked me to whisper something dirty in your ear
But every last mineral and vegetable I thought of only made your smile appear
Now that I'm older, you'd think that I could mention procreation in a song
But I'll never be your Serge Gainsbourg[3], I guess I've had these reservations all along

  1. Apparently, we have William Purkey to thank for all the bad advice that confronts us as we enter a Jimmy John's or check into a rustic B&B.

  2. Blue is the Warmest Color, for example. ↩︎

  3. Depending on the night, this could be Gainsbourg or Stuart Ransom Miller. ↩︎

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