Peter Sarstedt - Where do you go to (my lovely)?

CAUSE I CAN LOOK INSIDE YOUR HEAD
 

Nacido en Delhi, India, este cantautor inglés llegó en 1969 al número 1 en los UK charts con esta canción, hoy ya un clásico, y ahí se mantuvo durante cuatro semanas. Su interesante e irónica letra describe, desde el punto de vista de un amigo de la infancia, a Marie Claire, una chica crecida en suburbios de Nápoles, que vive en París y llega a ser miembro de la jet-set europea, pero...

Where do you go to, my lovely? (Peter Sarstedt)

You talk like Marlene Dietrich
And you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire
Your clothes are all made by Balmain
And there's diamonds and pearls in your hair, yes there are.

And you live in a fancy apartment
Off the Boulevard St. Michel
Where you keep your Rolling Stones records
And a friend of Sacha Distel, yes you do.

But where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
Want you tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do.

Well, I've seen all your qualifications
that you got from the Sorbonne
And the painting you stole from Picasso
Your loveliness goes on and on, yes it does.

And when you go on your summer vacation
You go to Juan-les-Pines
With your carefully designed topless swimsuit
You get an even suntan, on your back and on your legs.

And when the snow falls you're found in St. Moritz
With the others of the jet-set
And you sip your Napoleon Brandy
But you never get your lips wet, no you don't.

But where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
would you tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do.

Your name is heard in high places
You know the Aga Khan
and he sent you a racehorse for Christmas
And you keep it just for fun, for a laugh ha-ha-ha-ha.

And they say that if you get married
It'll be to a millionaire
But they don't realize where you came from
And I wonder if they really care or give a damn.

Where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
You better tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do.

I remember the back streets of Naples
Two children begging in rags
Both touched with a burning ambition
To shake off their lowly brown tags, they try.

So look into my face Marie-Claire
And remember just who you are
Then go and forget me forever
But I know you still bear the scar, deep inside.

I know where you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
I know the thoughts that surround you
Cause I can look inside your head.