II.
Past we glide, and past, and past! Why’s the Pucci Palace flaring Like a beacon to the blast? Guests by hundreds--not one caring If the dear host’s neck were wried: Past we glide!
_She sings._
Past we glide, and past, and past! Why’s the Pucci Palace flaring Like a beacon to the blast? Guests by hundreds--not one caring If the dear host’s neck were wried: Past we glide!
_She sings._