Do those whose taste in music
Is grandly hoity-toity
Think Heaven’s operatic
And ineffably Bayreuth-y?
Do those who go for punky gigs
Think paradise less posh,
Packed hard with spit and violence,
And Heaven one long mosh?
I’ll tell you what’s my paradise -
A dim-lit bar, some decent booze,
A hunched piano-player
And a bottle-blonde shontoose.
Some broad who’s been around the block,
With a voice of smokey yearning,
A lady who has seen too much,
But she keeps the old torch burning.
She sings that life is made for love,
And time will kill the pain.
She sings that though your love’s gone bad
You still should love again.
She sings that there is always hope
And those who love are wise.
Yes, I could spend eternity
Hearing the old old lies.