(Danoff)
Dearest Esmerelda, in another age, antiques would be modern, and
we would be the rage.

Silk would be in fashion, we would dress in lace.
Love would be the passion and the saving grace.
I slept one rainy night with you in Paris, made up for a

thousand wasted years.
Dearest Esmerelda, you are magic, I close my eyes and you make
love appear.


Dancing in the shimmer of a crystal chandelier. Shadows singing
so low, only we could hear.

Moving to the glimmer, shaking to the storm, outside it was
raging but inside it was warm.
We said goodnight in the candlelight and thunder, now I wake and

find you're never there.
I'm becoming old enough to wonder, happy that I'm still too
young to care.


Masterpieces crumble, empires tumble down. Refugees and
fantasies go underground.

Romance lasts forever, love don't fade away.
They may take our future but they can't stop yesterday.
Cause somewhere in the cloudy skies of Paris, we were part of

some artist's design.
Dearest Esmerelda, you are magic. In the gray around me how you
shine, oh, how you shine.