It was Momot, it was midnight, come to think of it, it was spring. There was music, I was listening. Then in the room somewhere, someone began to sing, this melody made for remembering, a small cafe, Ma'am Zell, our rendezvous, Ma'am Zell. The violins were warm and sweet, and so were you, Ma'am Zell. And as the night danced by, a kiss became a sigh. Your lovely eyes seemed to sparkle just like wine does. No heart ever yearned the way that mine does, for you. And yet I know too well, someday we'll say goodbye. Then violins will cry, and so will I, Ma'am Zell.
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