He dreams I dream of a boy in
A cut grey suit, his shirt buttons twice undone,
Long, French curls of dark hair,
The cupid's mouth,
The cigarette winding its gentle smoke
From a hand wrinkled with blue blood and
The smart boy's nose,
The villainous voice sultry and growling his poetry and prose
In a room in the University.

Darlin', if it's all paid for by his Mommy,
And they live in a house in the cut-glass,
Red Brick, mowed, luscious area of town
With the greenest grass a girl's ever seen
Lining their lawns and every day caressing their shoes
It means nothing to me –
He'd be the guy that, even when happy,
Thinks he plays good blues.