Words by Margarita Durán
Music by Pedro B. Pérez

Entwined we stroll in crêpe and velvet,
you with the rustle of starch, I serious and aloof.
The people watch with envy as we pass;
muttering of neighbours, friends and aldermen.

It's so passé, they say,
your haircomb, my tiepin;
It's so passé, they say,
your locket, my cummerbund…
But I know your big eyes are not passé, nor my pride
as you walk carefree on my arm in the sun.

Opposite the central church our driver awaits;
our constitutional we take at a jog-trot.
In greeting I touch the rim of my best hat,
while gracefully you flutter your handkerchief.

It's so passé, I know it's so passé
that you place jasmine in my buttonhole before we dine…
And of course it all seems a game,
but nothing beats playing the gentleman
from the time of my grandparents.

Translation by Tom Everett