nobody left in the airport lounge they cleaned the ashtrays tv s just wound down i ve got to wait till morning i ve got to last the night i ve only got one book to see me through my flight but when i get to paris we ll paint all our portraits in brush strokes of yellow and christen the canvas the left bank is crying for colour to crown it like the roof of a palace we ll drink in the amber when i get to paris you were the best of montmartre street life you signed the tablecloth art has its price it s so hard to hold on to the ghost of your breed it takes ambition to call the colours you need 