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When I turned sixteen, I was furious and restless |
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Got a Chelsea girl haircut and a plane ticket to Paris |
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I stayed there with a pansy, he had a studio in the seventh |
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Lost his lover to a sickness, I slept beside him in his bed |
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That's when I met Nancy, she was smokin' on a gipsy |
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She had a ring in her nose and her eyes were changing like moonstones |
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She said: |
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"Open up, late bloomer, it will make you smile |
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I can see that fire burning in you, little child." |
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Nancy came from Boston, she got in trouble very often |
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'Cause her parents had forgotten her, she escaped over the pond |
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She was searching for the writer of a song that made her shiver |
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She listened over and over on a Walkman cassette |
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She said: |
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"Come with me, late bloomer, for a little while, |
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I wanna see that fire burning in you, little child." |
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How could I resist her, I had longed for a big sister |
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And I wanted to kiss her, but I hadn't the nerve |
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We found the writer, he was just some kid from Boston |
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I was jealous as I watched him talking to her |
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But man, was I astonished, didn't look like no Adonis |
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But as Nancy had promised, he was heavy as lead |
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And he said: |
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"Come with us, late bloomer, for a little while, |
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We wanna feel that fire burning in you, little child." |
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Forgive me my candor, but I just had to have her |
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And at the time I didn't mind sharing with him |
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We rode in silence, all the way back to the seventh |
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And I promised I'd write her but I never did |
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And she said: |
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"Au revoir, late bloomer, for a little while, |
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You gotta keep the fire burning in you, little child." |
