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[John G.]

Seven

[John G.]

I can move pages.

[John G.]

Lucky seven.

[John G.]

Unloved seven.

[John G.]

I can recite a Cole Porter lyric or 500.

[John G.]

My story is much too sad to be told

[John G.]

But practically everything leaves me totally cold

[John G.]

The only exception I know is the case

[John G.]

When I'm out on a quiet spree

[John G.]

Fighting vaguely the old ennui

[John G.]

When I suddenly turn and see

[John G.]

Your fabulous face.

[John G.]

I get no kick from champagne

[John G.]

Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all

[John G.]

So tell me why should it be true

[John G.]

That I get a kick out of you?

[John G.]

Some get a kick from cocaine

[John G.]

I'm sure that if I took even one sniff

[John G.]

That would bore me terrifically too

[John G.]

Yet I get a kick out of you.

[John G.]

I get a kick every time I see you

[John G.]

Standing there before me

[John G.]

I get a kick though it's clear to see

[John G.]

You obviously don't adore me

[John G.]

I get no kick in a plane

[John G.]

Flying too high with some guy in the sky

[John G.]

Is my idea of nothing to do.

[John G.]

Yet I get a kick out of you

[John G.]

And this concludes my performance in Porter.

[John G.]

Porter-guese?