Angel, won't you call me? Could I be the only though I am a lost cause, Angel, won't you call me? Waiting for a sweet breeze, read it in the tea-leaves
Truly, with his thorn in your side and you don't know why Julie dips her toe in the tide and she don't know why No, she don't know why she got all dolled
Sweet Annabelle, As seen reclining on an ocean swell As the waves do lather up to lay her down 'til she's fast and sleeping. Oh well, I guess I'm something
and witless boy At the after bars Think I was sullied by a dream In the killing jar You and me at war, at arms All falling in embrace Tell me why you lied
My mother was a Chinese trapeze artist In pre-war Paris Smuggling bombs for the underground. And she met my father At a fete in Aix-en-Provence. He was
good 'bout locking her up Where has she gone? Well, I bet she's on the bottom of a Frenchtown pond Rudely abused on some hescher's joyride So I wrote you this song