My Sinatra (Version 1)
His kisses were my cigarettes,
Like my chocolate.
He said I could learn from his regrets,
That he’d protect me.
New York lights turned frosted glass,
As he’d play me witty sonnets.
We’d sway like we were upper class,
Tuned to deft piano.
He promised me stability,
As such a charismatic lover.
Smearing my reality,
Far into his tomorrow.
But music tells so many lies,
In his surface such façade.
For the humour seems so very wry,
That not until his tragic death,
Did I see him as my Sinatra.
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