It’s like I was telling you before
I’ve never been much for dancing and the night life
But in your arms something transforms me
And Nureyev could be my younger brother

I’m standing alone against the wall
It’s sort of my place, I mean, I made a reservation
But when you came along and touched my shoulder
I knew that Nureyev must be my younger brother

A foxtrot, tango or a polka, waltz
Evan a rhumba, becomes just a cakewalk
In your arms
I twist and leap
I wear slippers when I sleep
And your smile is met
With a pirouette

It’s something I really can’t describe
It’s sort of like drinking too much gin and falling down stairs
It happens when you’re near and then I’m certain
That Mrs. Nureyev must be my mother

(lyrics: Dan Bern)