Mademoiselle

Mademoiselle remembers too well How once she was belle of the ball Now the past she sadly recalls. Mademoiselle lived in grand hotels Ordered clothes by Chanel and Dior Millionaires queued at her door. Oh, she pleased them and teased them She hooked them and squeezed them Until like their empires they'd fall She very soon learned That the more love she spurned The more power she yearned Until she was belle of the ball. Oh, Mademoiselle, such a soft machiavel Would play bagatelle with the hearts of young men as They fell Mademoiselle would hide in her shell Could then turn cast a spell on any girl That got in her way. She would crave all attention Men would flock to her side Woe betide any man who ignored For she'd feign such affection Then break down their pretension When she'd won she would turn away. Turn away, thoroughly bored. Mademoiselle, long ago said farewell To any love left to sell, for the sake of being belle Of the ball Mademoiselle knows there's no way to quell Her own private hell, just a shell, With no heart left at all. Poor old Mademoiselle. Still a Mademoiselle.