Back to Arzo

In a desert bar, under moonlit stars… Chris sips his tea… and dreams of… her. Chris Thomas wore a velvet vest, Fell for a camel, unlike the rest. Her name was Arzu, with a snarl so fine, She kicked his sax, but he called her “divine.” Oh Arzu… you moody desert flame, You stomped on my heart, but I love you the same. You spit in my drink, and you chewed on my shoe, But baby, I keep comin’ back to you… He brought her jazz records and a rose bouquet, She ate the vinyl and galloped away. He swore he was done, packed his bags with flair, But two nights later, he was back in her lair. She’s got two humps and a temper so bold, But Chris says, “That’s just her soul made of gold.” He’s bruised, he’s bitten, but hopelessly smitten, He writes her love songs… that never get written. Oh Arzu… my jazz-infused delight, You bite like a cobra, but you cuddle at night. You’re chaos in fur, with a heart kinda true… And baby, I’ll always come back to you.