Look at all the captivating,
fascinating things there are to do.
Name two.
Look at all the pleasures,
all the myriad of treasures we have got.
Like what?
Look at Paris in the spring,
when each solitary thing is more
beautiful than ever before.
You can hear every tree almost say ing,
look at me.
What color are the trees? Green.
What color were they last year?
Green. next year? Green.
It's a bore.
Don't you marvel at the power
of the mighty Eiffel Tower,
knowing there it will remain evermore?
Climbing up to the sky
over 90 stories high.
How many stories? 90.
How many yesterday? 90.
And tomorrow? 90.
It's a bore.
The river Seine.
All it can do is flow.
But think of wine.
It's red or white.
But think of girls!
It's either yes or no.
And if it's no or if it's yes,
it simply couldn't matter less.
But think of a race with your
horse in seventh place,
then he suddenly begins,
and he catches up and
wins with a roar!
It's a ball!
Life is thrilling as can be.
Simply not my cup of tea.
It's a gay romantic fling.
If you like that sort of thing.
It's intriguing.
It's fatiguing. It's a game.
It's the same dull world
wherever you go,
whatever place you are at.
The earth is round,
but everything on it is flat.
Don't tell me Venice has no Lure?
Just a town without a sewer.
The Leaning Tower, I adore.
Indecision is a bore.
But think of the thrill of a
bullfight in Seville
when the bull is uncontrolled
and he's charged at a bald matador.
It's a bore.
Think of lunch beneath
the trees.
Stop the carriage if you please.
You mean you don't
want to come?
The thought of lunch leaves me numb.
But I implore. Oh no, uncle.
It's a bore.