My my miss Gracie
The lights that trace thee
Your silhouette against the curtains
My summer love you caught me
And I thought with certainty
This was real.
We had bread beef beer and bagels
On the Spanish streets.
Under our fatherly mountains
My hands are tired from the skiing
Because I was never middle class enough to go.
So with such happy memories
How can you be surprised with
Now Granada is impossible to enjoy.
All the paella has bone and gristle in it
They have raised the price of the beer
I hold you personally responsible.