With her Fiorelli handbag,
How beautiful is she?
She muses as she reads her mag
And yet has not seen me…
But here I am, transfixed in time
And mesmerised in truth,
For she’s exquisite, quite sublime
And so hard to improve…
She’s got pinache, she’s got finesse,
She’s got that fashion style
And in my heart, there’s happiness,
Each time I see her smile…
To think, that God created her
For me to fall in love,
No wonder that such feelings stir
To thank the Lord above…
Dressed to impress, beguile, bewitch,
Catch mortals in her spell.
Who knows if she is really rich?
This sweet Fiorelli girl…
My first intent is just to stare,
To worship from afar…
Someday to tell her that I care,
‘I love you… you’re a star! ‘
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