I Think I Was Born In The Wrong Century

I think I was born in the wrong century,

Because I long for misty London streets,

And masked balls.

I think I was born in the wrong century,

Because no matter how hard I try,

Fashion and music and shoes,

They’re all like dust in the wind.

I think I was born in the wrong century,

Because I want to write poetry,

About carriages and horses,

On cobblestoned pavements.

I think I was born in the wrong century,

Because technology hold no interest for me,

I long for tea boiled over a fireplace.

I think I was born in the wrong century,

Because I want to be wild and free,

I want to wear dresses,

And run barefoot on grass.

I know I was born in the wrong century

Because I dream of mystical balls,

And I long to write on parchment,

With ink-stained fingers.