Those Dancing Days Are Gone - Carla Bruni

Come, let me sing into your ear

Those dancing days are gone

All the silk and satin gear

Crouch upon a stone

Wrapping that foul body up

In as foul a rag:

I carry the sun in a golden cup

The moon in a silver bag

I carry the sun in a golden cup

The moon in a silver bag

Curse as you may I sing it through

What matter if the knave

That the most could pleasure you

The children that he gave

Are somewhere sleeping like a top

Under a marble flag?

I carry the sun in a golden cup

The moon in a silver bag

I carry the sun in a golden cup

The moon in a silver bag

I thought it out this very day

Noon upon the clock

A man may put pretence away

Who leans upon a stick

May sing, and sing until he drop

Whether to maid or hag:

I carry the sun in a golden cup

The moon in a silver bag