music

you might say that this st louis thing is what’s helping me.

Last night I could mostly be found bopping my head around the Kazimier in Liverpool, drinking Krombacher and admiring the banisters and watching Pokey Lafarge and the South City Three boss it. Obviously loved it/obviously took a million photos/obviously about to show you some. Oh and Liverpool? It didn’t take me long to realise how much I’ve missed you. Felt it as soon as I stepped off the train. I won’t leave it so long next time.

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music, photography

You talk like Marlene Dietrich and you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire,
your clothes are all made by Balmain and there’s diamonds and pearls in your hair, yes there are.

You live in a fancy apartment off the Boulevard St. Michel,
where you keep your Rolling Stones records and a friend of Sacha Distel, yes you do.

You go to the embassy parties, where you talk in Russian and Greek,
and the young men who move in your circles, they hang on every word you speak, yes they do.

I’ve seen all your qualifications you got from the Sorbonne,
and the painting you stole from Picasso, your loveliness goes on and on, yes it does.

But where do you go to, my lovely, when you’re alone in your bed?
Tell me the thoughts that surround you, I want to look inside your head, yes I do.

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