52 OISEAUX DE PASSAGE When you’re dead among the dead, When your life is dragging on among the living, When everything throws you out of the door And the wind slams it shut, When you’re not young and loved any more, Behind a closed door, All you can do is chuck yourself into the water Or buy a revolver: Yes, gentlemen, that’s what’s left For cowards and bastards. But if your funk at doing that Puts the wind right up you, If you’re scared to slit your wrists, You can always try your luck With a trip to Monte Carlo. Monte Carlo, Monte Carlo. I’ve had my day; I want to sleep at the bottom of the sea. Of the Mediterranean. After you’ve sold your soul And pawned your jewellery That you never go back to redeem, Roulette is a lovely little game. It’s amusing to say: ‘I gamble’. It puts the colour in your cheeks And lights up your eyes. Under the pretty mourning veils, You bear a pretty widow’s name. A title makes you proud! And crazy, and all ready, and as good as new, You pick up your card at the Casino. Just look at my feathers and my veils, Have a good look at the sequins on the star That brings me to Monte Carlo. Luck is a lady. She’s jealous Of all these solemn widowhoods She must have thought I was the wife Of a real colonel. I won, I won on the twelve. And then your dresses come apart at the seams, The fur coat loses its hair. Even if you keep repeating ‘I wish’,
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