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Carla Bruni
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Ballade At Thirty Five
This, no ballad of innocence;
This, the rhyme of a lady who
Followed ever the natural bents.
This, a solo of sapience,
This, a chantey of sophistry,
This, the sum of experiments,
Decked in garments of sable hue,
Decked in garments of sable hue,
Decked in garments of sable hue,
Daubed with ashes of myriad Lents,
Wearing shower bouquets of rue,
Walk I ever in penitence.
Oft I roam, as my heart repents,
Through God's acre of memory,
Marking stones, in my reverence,
Pictures pass me in long review,
Pictures pass me in long review,
Pictures pass me in long review,
Marching columns of dead events.
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I was tender, and, often, true;
Ever a prey to coincidence.
Always knew I the consequence;
Always saw what the end would be.
We're as Nature has made us -- hence
Princes, never I'd give offense,
Princes, never I'd give offense,
Princes, never I'd give offense,
Won't you think of me tenderly?
Here's my strength and my weakness, gents -
This, no ballad of innocence;
This, the rhyme of a lady who
Ballade At Thirty Five
Decked in garments of sable hue,
Pictures pass me in long review,
Princes, never I'd give offense,
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