I’m on a Billie Holiday,
wishing you were here—
we’d sail for Miles Davis,
till we reach the New World.
He and she were made for each other—
ask Wynton if you doubt me.
There’s strange fruit over Europe.
Those who notice it, beware.
Girl, if you too are a prisoner
of love and of this century,
then retreat with me in time,
if only in our dreams.
