The Concierge with sleepy eyes
Starts her daily chore;
The florist gets his day’s supplies
And open up his store.
The church bells play a rondelet,
The city rhythms start;
And ev’ry note’s a sweet sound,
Small side street sound.
This is the morning music of Montmartre.
The children start their morning play,
The sun is warm and mellow.
The lark is in the key of “A”,
The dove is, playing cello.
Bonjour M’sieu, Madame, Ma’amselle,
Cheerful voices blend;
That’s music from the small hotel
As friend is greeting friend.
The cycle bells that gaily ring
Are proud to play their part;
This is the day we rest up
And get dressed up,
Sharing the morning music of Montmartre.
Utrillo took each brick and tree
And let his brush reveal it.
In ev’ry note of Debussy
You just can’t help but feel it.
Colette has made it live in print,
This we all applaud;
Réalités has made a mint exporting it abroad!
The brush and the pen Parisienne
Made us a living art!
Each violin or bass note
Is a grace note.
This is the morning music of Montmartre.
The morning magic of Montmartre
Can make my day a fine one.
There’s just no place that’s like Montmartre,
No genius could design one!
I feel as peaceful as a child
In the morning hush.
The color scheme so warm and wild
Would make a rainbow blush!
I start my day in this café
With music in my heart.
And as I go my way now,
I can say now
I’ve heard the morning music, magic music!
I love the morning music of Montmartre.