La canción de la semana

Pues bien, no tengo gustos taan raros, esta rola la oí en el corto Hotel Chevalier, de Wes Anderson, que es un preámbulo de The Darjeeling Limited, su nueva película que muero por ver. También pongo la letra. Creo que convendría buscar más rolas de Peter Sarstedt. Esta se llama Where do you go to (My Lovely), y es mi canción favorita de la semana, no pregunten cuál, todo es relativo.





Where do you go to (My Lovely)

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 appartement
of the Boulevard of St. Michel
where you keep your Rolling Stones records
and a friend of Sacha Distel, yes you do

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

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

When you go on your summer vacation
you go to Juan-les-Pines
with your carefully designed topless swimsuit
you get an even suntan, on your back and on your legs

When the snow falls you're found in St. Moritz
with the others of the jet-set
and you sip your Napoleon Brandy
but you never get your lips wet, no you don't

But where do you go to my lovely
when you're alone in your bed
won't you tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do

Your name is heard in high places
you know the Aga Khan
he sent you a racehorse for chistmas
and you keep it just for fun, for a laugh ha ha ha

They say that when you get married
it'll be to a millionaire
but they don't realize where you came from
and I wonder if they really care, or give a damn

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

I remember the back streets of Naples
two children begging in rags
both touched with a burning ambition
to shake off their lowly brown tags, yes they try

So look into my face Marie-Claire
and remember just who you are
then go and forget me forever
but I know you still bear
the scar, deep inside, yes you do

I know where you go to my lovely
when you're alone in your bed
I know the thoughts that surround you
'cause I can look inside your head