Gretel's getting on in years now,
though she still looks good at night
When the Brandy gives her color and her opals catch the light.
She could scratch the eyes from idols, it has frequently been said
And her nails still look effective – they are Chinese lacquer red
And she taps them on her snifter when she wants more anisette
And there’s still someone to buy it and to light her cigarette
Which is small and dark in color, akin to a cigar
And she’s she still some kind of dresser and by Burma she’s a star.
And I guess she scared (we all are) and would like to be adored,
But the one thing that I'm sure of is, by midnight Gretel's bored.
The rumor is she's German, she herself says Viennese.
She’s at home in French and English and she curses in Burmese.
There is talk of famous lovers and connections with a trade
that involved endangered species, China white, gun parts, and jade.
But Rangoon is full of rumors and God knows she'll never tell
You would think she's always lived here - in this almost good hotel
Where the flit who plays piano still insists he saw her cry
Says he took a Kir for courage, went up and asked her “why?”
She said, I miss my brother, I miss running risks for free.
Once we faced a witch together, today that witch is me.