Claire Fontaine

Claire Fontaine
 Who are you?
 I like the paper you make
 We were introduced
 By a lover of mine
 And now she's gone
 But I still have you
 Claire Fontaine
 Claire Fontaine
 You seem to bring
 The best out of me
 And the things that
 I write to sing
 Claire Fontaine
 Claire Fontaine
 Are you a lumberjack or something?
 Does your father own a forest
 Are the nicest trees for choppin'?
 Claire Fontaine
 And Claire Fontaine
 Your sheets are very smooth
 I like to rub my pen across them
 Do you feel the way I do
 Claire Fontaine?
 Claire Fontaine
 You seem to bring
 The best out of me
 In the things that
 I write to sing
 Claire Fontaine
 If newspapers used
 Your paper for the news
 Things would seem less terrifying
 Just because of you
 Claire Fontaine
 And were you in a garden
 When they said the war had started
 Do you think you'd write a letter
 That would start 'my dear departed...'
 Claire Fontaine
 Claire Fontaine
 You seem to bring
 The best out of me
 And the things that
 I write to sing
 Claire Fontaine
 oooh-oh
 Claire Fontaine
 I'm going home for Christmas
 They may refuse me entry
 'Cause you're native to this country
 Claire Fontaine
 But as a foreigner relinquish
 A pad of paper so distinguished
 I'd say 'never, never, never
 I'll take this pad of mine to heaven'
 Claire Fontaine
 Where maybe I would choose
 To write a fan letter or two
 I might write one to Andy Warhol
 And the other one for you
 And you could rest assured in knowing
 They'd be on your paper too
 Claire Fontaine,
 Who are you?
 Claire Fontaine
 You seem to bring
 The best out of me
 And the thing that
 I write to sing
 Claire Fontaine