My story is much too sad to be told But practically everything leaves me totally cold The only exception I know is the case When I'm out on a quiet spree Fighting vainly the old ennui And I suddenly turn and see your fabulous face I get no kick from champagne Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all So tell me why should it be true That I get a kick out of you Some they may go for a cocaine I'm sure that if I took even one sniff It would bore me terrifically too Yet I get a kick out of you I get a kick every time I see you Standing there before me I get a kick though it's clear to see You obviously do not adore me