OURS
Cole Porter  1938

as rec by 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 Devonshire 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 chattin'
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?




(Transcribed by Peter Akers - March 2011)