The Belle of St. Mark

The belle of St. Mark was a frail but passionate creature,
Ebony hair, and eyes a deep blue-green...
The belle of St. Mark wore clothes that belonged to his father,
Even though he was only 17...
I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love with the belle of St. Mark;
It tears me apart whenever I hear him cry...
I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love with the belle of St. Mark,
And if he doesn't love me, I think I'll probably die...
You can tell from expressions he makes public
That he suffers from a badly broken heart;
He smiles as he feeds the afternoon pigeons,
But he cries as he walks the night streets of St. Mark...
I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love with the belle of St. Mark;
It tears me apart whenever I hear him cry...
I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love with the belle of St. Mark,
And if he doesn't love me, I think I'll probably die...
The belle of St. Mark, he don't talk to strangers, he's so mysterious;
His erotic persuasion provokes me like no other man...
The fire I have for him is undoubtedly serious;
I need to make him see that he needs love to forget,
And if anyone can help him, I can.
I can help... I can help you...
His Paris hair, it blows in the warm Parisian air
That blows whenever his Paris hair is there...
The woman that hurt him surely must have trouble sleeping,
'Cause the belle of St. Mark is a beauty extraordinaire...
Oh, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love with the belle of St. Mark;
It tears me apart whenever I hear him cry...
I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love with the belle of St. Mark,
And if he doesn't love me, I think I'll probably die...
Ooh, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love with the belle of St. Mark;
It tears me apart whenever I hear him cry...
I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love with the belle of St. Mark,
And if he doesn't love me, I think I'll probably die...
And if he doesn't love me, I think I'll probably die...
And if he don't... I'll die.
© GIRLSONGS