In 1962 Carolyn Leigh and Cy Coleman wrote this song: “Pardon me, miss, but I’ve never done this with a real live girl. . . . Nothing can beat getting swept off your feet by a real live girl.” The lyric always puzzled me, as I could only interpret it as the testimony of a recovering necrophiliac.
I found another example of calm acceptance of the macabre in Rodgers and Hart’s “With a Song in My Heart,” where we find, in the break, “When the music swells I’m touching your hand. It tells me you’re standing near . . .” Unless …
Something to Consider
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