Mademoiselle remembers too well

How once she was belle of the ball

Now the past she sadly recalls.

Mademoiselle lived in grand hotels

Ordered clothes by Chanel and Dior

Millionaires queued at her door.

Oh, she pleased them and teased them

She hooked them and squeezed them

Until like their empires they'd fall

She very soon learned

That the more love she spurned

The more power she yearned

Until she was belle of the ball.

Oh, Mademoiselle, such a soft machiavel

Would play bagatelle with the hearts of young men as

They fell

Mademoiselle would hide in her shell

Could then turn cast a spell on any girl

That got in her way.

She would crave all attention

Men would flock to her side

Woe betide any man who ignored

For she'd feign such affection

Then break down their pretension

When she'd won she would turn away.

Turn away, thoroughly bored.

Mademoiselle, long ago said farewell

To any love left to sell, for the sake of being belle

Of the ball

Mademoiselle knows there's no way to quell

Her own private hell, just a shell,

With no heart left at all.

Poor old Mademoiselle.

Still a Mademoiselle.