Oscar Wilde died in bed

Several floors above my head

Living well beyond his means

In that crazy Paris scene

Rain falls down in sheets so clear

No one ever calls me here

Traveling by my self these days

I'm into jazz and felt berets

Far from the that old eastern shore

Searching for strange metaphors

I don't want to be another victim of fashion

I don't want to see my name in the paper each day

Leave that to the young Turks

They're more handsome and dashing

Posing for paparazzi's down Laguna way

Down in the metro I feel the world start to multiply

Bastille, rubber wheels, spiked heels, subterranean lullaby

Met an African prancer, a hemisphere dancer

Spied the ghost of Brassens

We smiled at the secret we shared

And I hid it like contraband



Quietly making noise, making noise

Starts with kindergarten toys

Not too soft not too loud

Just enough to draw a crowd

Quietly, quietly, quietly making noise

Followed the beat, I found myself in this patois spot



Outside a blizzard was blowing but inside the joint was hot

Zouk songs, rubber thongs, sing-a-longs

The words flew right by my face

Rhythm and motions, a blamma jamma potion

You cannot erase



Quietly making noise, making noise

Pissin off the old killjoys

Glass packs on a hot Mustang

A Telecaster with a twang

Quietly, quietly, quietly making noise



Singers and writers and poets

Have flocked here for centuries

The city of light is built upon mountains of memories

Baritone saxophone, monotones

Speak of the voice I've heard before

It's a lasting impression

A Gypsy expression you cannot ignore