You come into my dreams from a whisper to a scream.
Sartre said that hell is other people, I believe that most of them are
You can call it nostalgia, I don't mind Standing on that windswept hillside Listening to the church bells chime Listen to the church bells chime In that magic time.
That's the jazz that I like - the stuff that has a soothing effect.
Every performance is different. That's the beauty of it.
And I want to rock your gypsy soul Just like way back in the days of old And magnificently we will fold into the mystic