Irving Berlin

Mont Martre

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When all is still in Paris
And evening shadows creep
Upon a hill in Paris
The people never sleep
They bid a royal welcome
To ev'ry restless heart
Champagne bubbles drown their troubles
While they are in Mont Martre

Mont Martre, playground of France
Mont Martre, wrapped in romance

Mont Martre, on with the dance
While the violin plays a song of sin with

Love dreams luring you on
Till the vision is gone

Young hearts break with the wake of each dawn
How tragic is the magic of Mont Martre

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