Ours - Lena Horne

The high gods above look down and laugh at our love

And say to themselves, «How tawdry it’s grown»

They’ve seen our cars in front of so many bars

When we should have been under the stars

Together but alone, ours is the chance

To make romance our own

Ours, the white Riviera under the moon

Ours, a gondola gliding on a lagoon

Ours, a temple serene by the green Arabian Sea

Or maybe you’d rather be going out buying Gay Paree

Ours, the silent sierras greeting the dawn

Or a sun-spotted Devon-shire lawn dotted with flowers

Mine the inclination, yours the inspiration

Why don’t we take a vacation and make it all ours?

Ours, the glitter of Broadway, Saturday night

Ours, a box at the garden watching a fight

Ours, the mad, the brouhaha at the Plaza’s Persian Room

Or if this fills you with gloom

We can go and admire Grant’s Tomb

Ours, a home on the river facing the east

Or in one of Park Avenue’s least

Frightening towers, oh, this champion chatting

Sounds to me like Latin

Why don’t we stay in Manhattan

And make it all?

Why don’t we stay in Manhattan

And make it all ours?