The Last Of The Breed
On golden sandals you walk marble terraces
In Cape Town and Rio de Janeiro
In the company of people with money and looks
A most studied and glittering scenario
Great names in politics and charity adore you
In ballrooms with diamonds and dancing
Laughing but serious, poise and certainty
Every move made career, enhancing
A major player in the world of Haute Couture
At the salons of Paris and Milano
Somehow you've delayed the ageing process
Looking stunning in John Galliano
You keep your secrets inside Marie-Claire
What right have the paparazzi to pry?
No-one's interested in knowing the truth
But they'll always believe in a lie
So, act out the destiny
Play out the role
Follow the romantic creed
You are the last of the breed
Years spent in agony at the Ballet de Rousse
Too tall for a Prima Ballerina
A figure so graceful in a non-classical sense
Would have delighted Nureyev, had he seen her
Face slightly imperfect, a mirror underwater
Isabella Rossellini from a distance
Eyes evanescent, lapis flecked with gold
As though from the very roots of existence
You keep your secrets inside Marie-Claire
What right have the paparazzi to pry?
No-one's interested in knowing the truth
But they'll always believe in a lie
So, act out the destiny
Play out the role
Follow the romantic creed
You are the last of the breed
Those times with the famous, in Palm Beach and Long Island
The winters in Gstaad and Colorado
They were whimsical seasons, impossibly shallow
Hostage to a ridiculous bravado
Time came to leave and return to Europe
Promising there would be no more marriages
And, while Harrods refurbished the Belgravia mansion
You moved to the penthouse at Claridge's
You keep your secrets inside Marie-Claire
What right have the paparazzi to pry?
No-one's interested in knowing the truth
But they'll always believe in a lie
So, act out the destiny
Play out the role
Follow the romantic creed
You are the last of the breed
And there he stood, as sad as Jerusalem
Stone-eyed and gaunt in the silence