I'm a legionnaire,
Camel in disrepair,
hoping for a frigidaire to come passing by.
I am on reprieve,
lacking my joie de vivre,
missing my gay paris,
in this desert dry.
And I wrote my girl,
told her I would not return,
terribly taken a turn
for the worse now I fear.
Its been a year or more
since they shipped me to this foreign shore,
fighting in a foreign war
so far away from my own.
If only summer rain would fall
on the houses and the boulevards
and the side walk bagatelles its like a dream,
with the roar of cars
and the lulling[?] of the cafe bars,
the sweetly sleeping sweeping of the sand.
Lord I don't know if I'll ever be back again.
la la la la dam
la la la low
Medicating in the sun
pinched doses of laudanum,
longing for old fecundity of my homeland.
Curses to this mirage!
A bottle of ancient Chiraz,
a smattering of distant applause
is ringing in my poor ears.
On the old left bank
my baby in a charabanc
riding up the width and length
of the Champs Elysees.
If only summer rain would fall
on the houses and the boulevards
and the side walk bagatelles its like a dream,
with the roar of cars
and the lulling[?] of the cafe bars,
the sweetly sleeping sweeping of the sand.
Lord I don't know if I'll ever be back again.
If only summer rain would fall
on the houses and the boulevards
and the side walk bagatelles its like a dream,
with the roar of cars
and the lulling[?] of the cafe bars,
the sweetly sleeping sweeping of the sand.
Lord I don't know if I'll ever be back again...
be back again,
be back again,
I'll be back again
