When I am old and weary
who’ll be there to sing?
When I am tired and bleary-eyed
who’ll be there to bring me home?
I take a chill in the winter
and I spend my summers

In Normandy
We have always stayed the summer there
with Marion, who brings us tea and roses
and a memory of love no one supposes
Amidst the roses

Where are my knights and passions?
Nothing left to say
and now my life’s spent, fashioned
out among the courtships and the grave
Between the flowers of mourning
and the chill of evening

In Normandy
It has always seemed like summer there
and Marion, who brings me tea and roses
in a memory of lust no one supposes
amidst the roses