He loves to sit
In Paris cafés
With a glass of wine
And cigarette
And think of girls
Whom once he met
In places like this
When he was young
And made love
In scented beds
And made promises
Not to be honoured
In realms of now.

He loves to gaze
From New York bars
With glass of gin
And large cigars
And think of broads
Whom once he knew
In joints like this
When he was young
And had sex
In sordid beds
And told lies
Always believed
In the realms then.

He hates to sit
In lonely rooms
With cups of tea
Rolled up fags
And dream of dames
Whom once he knew
In younger days
In rooms like this
Where he would kiss
The flesh of many
And spin tales
To all the girls
Always swallowed
In realms of dreams.