Remark the cat
Who hesitates toward you
In the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin
You see the border of her coat
Is torn and stained with sand
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin
She haunted many a low resort
Near the grimy road of Tottenham Court
She flitted about the No Man's Land
From "The Rising Sun" to "The Friend at Hand"
And the postman sighed as he scratched his head
"You'd really had thought she ought to be dead"
And who would ever suppose that that…
Was Grizabella, the glamour cat?
Grizabella, the glamour cat
Grizabella, the glamour cat
And who would ever suppose that that....
Was Grizabella, the glamour cat?
