You're the one that I want
Oo-oo-oo, honey
The one that I want
Oo-oo-oo, honey
The one that I want
Oo-oo-oo, the one I need
Oh, yes indeed
You're the one that I want
Oo-oo-oo, honey
The one that I want
Oo-oo-oo, honey
The one that I want
Oo-oo-oo, the one I need
Oh, yes indeed
Because passion, Plato seems to be saying, is essentially and mercilessly human. And the best that we can hope to do is to quell it through relentless discipline.
Abra-abra-cadabra I want to reach out and grab ya
Abra-abra-cadabra Abracadabra
I feel the magic in your caress
I feel magic when I touch your
dress
Silk and satin, leather and lace
Black panties with an angel’s face
I heat up, I can’t cool down
My situation goes ’round and ’round
I heat up, I can’t cool down
My situation goes ’round and ’round
“Here at last is a true lover,” said the Nightingale. “Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.”
Giamaica! Giamaica!
Quando mi sembrava di bruciare sotto il tuo bel sole ardente.
Sai che mi potevo dissetare presso l'acqua di una fonte.
Ma come potro dissetare l'arsura di questo mio cuore,
Che dalla passione d'amore sento bruciar?!
Ton front marmoréen, ta démarche si fière
Et de tes yeux profonds l’insoutenable ardeur
Font plier mon orgueil sous ta calme grandeur
Je te crains et je t’aime ô douce meurtrière
Votre âme est une enfant que je voudrais bercer
En mes bras trop humains pour porter ce fantôme,
Ce fantôme d'enfant qui pourrait me lasser,
Et je veux vous conter comme un bon Chrysostome
La beauté de votre âme aperçue à demi
Autant qu'on peut voir une monade, un atome.
Votre âme est dans la paix comme cloître endormi.
Des larrons useront de plus d'un stratagème
Pour ouvrir le portail qui forclot l'ennemi.
Buck and Wild,
Swing to be free,
Your hands just can't keep ahold of me.
Dans le vieux parc solitaire et glacé
Deux spectres ont évoqué le passé.
— Te souvient-il de notre extase ancienne?
— Pourquoi voulez-vous donc qu'il m'en souvienne?
— Ton coeur bat-il toujours à mon seul nom?
Toujours vois-tu mon âme en rêve? — Non.
Ah! les beaux jours de bonheur indicible
Où nous joignions nos bouches! — C'est possible.
— Qu'il était bleu, le ciel, et grand, l'espoir!
— L'espoir a fui, vaincu, vers le ciel noir.