调：Ab major
Verse 1
G
F#m
G
Joy in Service on Rue Tagore
a keg.
Gm
G
C
In Le Normand, we bought foie
even as we rearranged the deck chairs.
so he favoured mint
If he didn't have fresh mint,
he'd extemporise.
If he didn't have fresh mint,
the diplomatic pouch
put dampers on our spirits.
F#m
C
G
One woman flashed the badge of a nipple,
but looked askance when I took it in.
until Emile's headstrong creed occur against my using the
hand he kept in the fridge of his apartment on Rue Tagore
F#m
G
In those years it was so much easier
and my own dodgy ticker,
Gm
G
the years spent chained to a briefcase.
The years I spent with a briefcase
nothing now.
young creatures
Gm
F
having long since re nounced their claims
or fallen foul of special ups.
F
Every October,
Emile would make a syrup of quince.
been toodle -pipped
F#m
F
the closest I now come to a stab of joy it
the fleeting smile,
that lends a bounce to my step
as I leave a doctor's office.
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