Christian:
O no, it's just, I'm a little nervous. Sometimes
it takes a while for, you know, inspiration.
Satine:
Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes. Let mummy help.
Christian:
Oh!
Satine:
Does that inspire you? Let's make love.
Christian:
Make love?
Satine:
You want to don't you. Can't you feel the
poetry.
Christian:
I thought. . .
Satine:
Shhhh. Tiger! Oh, big boy.
Telouse:
He has a huge talent.
Satine:
Yes I need your poetry now!
Christian:
Alright!
It's a little bit funny this feeling inside
Satine:
What?
Christian:
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
This is what you want? Poetry?
Satine:
Oh! Yes, yes this is what I want, naughty
words!
Christian:
I don't have much money but boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live
Satine:
Yes! Yes!
Christian:
If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Satine:
Naughty! Naughty!
Christian:
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
Satine:
Don't stop! No, no! Don't stop!
Christian:
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you
And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world
I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss
Well a few of the verses well they've got me quite
cross
But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song
It's for people like you that keep it turned on
So excuse me forgetting but these things I do
You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're
blue
Anyway the thing is what I really mean
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen
And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world
Satine:
I don't believe it. I'm in love. I'm
in love with a young, handsome, talented duke.
Christian:
Duke?
Satine:
Not that the title matters of course.
Christian:
I'm not a duke.
Satine:
Not a duke?
Christian:
I'm a writer.
Satine:
A writer?
Christian:
Telouse thought. . .
Satine:
Telouse! I'm going to kill him!
Telouse:
We appear to have hit a slight hitch.
Satine:
You're not another one of Telouse's incredibly
talented, charmingly Bohemian, tragically impovrished writers?
Christian:
Well I suppose you could say that. . .
Satine:
O no! The Duke!
Christian:
The Duke?
Satine:
The Duke! Hurry out the back!
