You never remind me of Paris in Spring

A Rembrandt, I find, to my mind you don't bring

There's no work of art could start to compare

You never remind me of pricey French wine

Or tuxedoed gents who have dinner at nine

Every other man is Vin Ordinaire

You're so unique I find

So well-designed

That every single thing about you

Reminds me of only you

You never remind me of summers in Spain

The sun when it's setting, the sound of the rain

New Years with Dick Clark, or Park Avenue

You never remind me of Sir Lancelot

My memory of him is totally shot

King Midas touch, not much next to you

'Cause if the truth be known

When we're alone

Than every single thing about you

Reminds me of only you



You never remind me of gods that are Greek

My dear,

And though I may hang on each word that you speak

It's clear

Ahead and behind me I lose track of all events

And as a consequence, you are my present tense



You never remind me of anyone who

Reminds me of anyone other than you

Compare though I will, I still can't equate

'Cause when you're here with me

Then vis-á-vis

You raise the heat repeatedly

So if I forget to recall

Remind me again, that's all