By Asta Jurgutis & Gary Sosnick ©1995

Come on over to my side, Brahm.
Oh Brahm, come on over to my side Brahm.

Crossed up to Montreal for a weekend getaway, let the brain drain.
Spiraled down to a party on the patio, candelabra's drippin' real slow.
Rolling in is this lanky guest with an eyebrow raised and a chip in his chest.
Works his way around the crowd and I'm wondering when will he slow down?

Slow down, and come on over to my side, Brahm.
Oh Brahm, come on over to my side Brahm.

So I watch between my bangs and wine glass rim thinking this guy ain't no seraphim.
Introduction's short and sweet as he steps to my side and begins to speak.

He's got a lot on his mind.
Thoughts that flicker deep within his eyes.
Not the type to share his secrets--keeps the labyrinth dark and open wide.

Chatting-up the Rue de St. Laurent, still I'm not a trusted confidante.
Begs a light from a passing fag hag--stretches, smiles and takes a graying drag.

Now he's loaded-up onto the bus, won't turn around, won't waive a make a fuss.
Watch the bus as it pulls away, headed north to some lonely atelier.

Asta, an accomplished world traveler, educated in England and settled in Detroit. Montreal, closer than Paris, is an easy destination condusive to memorable intrigue.