The Ugly American

I was an ugly American who thought she was brave to come here
When she could have stayed there – stayed in that faraway land

She said if she was truly brave she would have stayed there in her homeland
There in that faraway land with no ugly Americans to breathe their beer on her

I couldn’t grasp the idea of staying somewhere cold and uninviting – alone
Me the ugly American; she the stunning Polish dream – a dream walking

She felt so good in my arms as we danced to a nameless old love song
Her smell was as foreign as she but she felt so good in my heavy arms

Jesus Christ I have never seen anyone who looked that good to me
She looked like a dream I dared to allow myself against my own will
She looked like a movie star coming down to frolic amongst the mere mortals
She looked like the remnants of a piece of Italian art carved carefully in Caracas marble

She started to say something but she knew her words would hurt me
The ugly American is a sensitive beast – but you can’t hurt me – not me

I’m sorry was all she was able to whisper in my ear – she didn’t let me go
But she seemed to know she already lost me – me the ugly American

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