Peter Sarstedt - The Last Of The Breed | Текст песни

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• Peter Sarstedt
• The Last Of The Breed

On golden sandles you walk marble terraces,

in Cape Town and Rio de Janeiro.

In the company of people with money and looks,

a most studied and glittering scenario.

Great names in politics and charity adore you,

in ballrooms with diamonds and dancing.

Laughing but serious, poise, uncertainty,

every move made career enhancing.

A major player in the world of haute couture,

in the salons of Paris and Milano.

Somehow you’ve delayed the aging process,

looking stunning in John Galliano.

You keep your secrets inside Marie-Claire,

what right have the paparazzi to pry?

No one’s interested in knowing the truth,

but they’ll always believe in a lie.

So act out the destiny, play out the role,

follow the romantic dream?, you are the last of the breed.

Years spent in agony at the Ballets Russes,

too tall for a Prima ballerina.

A figure so graceful in an un-classical sense,

would’ve delighted Nureyev had he seen her.

A slightly imperfect, ?a mirror underwater?

Isabella Rossellini ?????????????.

Eyes evanescent, ?????? flecked with gold,

as though from the very roots of existence.

You keep your secrets inside Marie-Claire,

what right have the paparazzi to pry?

No one’s interested in knowing the truth,

but they’ll always believe in a lie.

So act out the destiny, play out the role,

follow the romantic dream, you are the last of the breed.

Those times with the famous, in Palm Beach and Long Island,

the winters in Gstaad and Colorado.

They were whimsical seasons, impossibly shallow,

hostage to a ridiculous bravado.

The time came to leave and return to Europe,

promising there’d be no more marriages.

And while Harrods refurbished your Belgravia mansion,

you moved to the penthouse at Claridge’s.

You keep your secrets inside Marie-Claire,

what right have the paparazzi to pry?

No one’s interested in knowing the truth,

but they’ll always believe in a lie.

So act out the destiny, play out the role,

and follow the romantic creed, you are the last of the breed.

And there he stood, sad as Jerusalem,

stone eyed and gaunt in the silence.

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