Where do you go to my lovely

Depuis que j'ai vu le génial et totalement loufoquesque film Darjeeling limited (hier soir) j'ai cette chanson dans la tête :
http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=QqLH2Sjatn0&feature=related

"You talk like Marlene Dietrich
And you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire
Your clothes are all made by Balmain
And there's diamonds and pearls in your hair, yes, there are

You live in a fancy apartment
Of the Boulevard St. Michel
Where you keep your Rolling Stones records
And a friend of Sacha Distel, yes, you do

You go to the embassy parties
Where you talk in Russian and Greek
And the young men who move in your circle
They hang on every word you speak, yes, I do

But where do you go to, my lovely
When you're alone in your bed?
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes, I do

I've seen all your qualifications
You got from the Sorbonne
And the painting you stole from Picasso
Your loveliness goes on and on, yes, it does

When you go on your summer vacation
You go to Juan-les-Pines
With your carefully designed topless swimsuit
You get an even suntan on your back and on your legs

And when the snow falls you're found in St. Moritz
With the others of the jet-set
And you sip your Napoleon Brandy
But you never get your lips wet, no, you don't

But where do you go to, my lovely
When you're alone in your bed?
Won't you tell me the thoughts that surround you?
I want to look inside your head, yes, I do

You're in-between twenty an thirty
A very desirable age
Your body's firm and inviting
But you live on a glittering state, yes, you do, yes, you do

Your name, it is heard in high places
You know the Aga Khan
He sent you a racehorse for Christmas
And you keep it just for fun, for a laugh, haha, haha

They say that when you get married
It'll be to a millionaire
But they don't realize where you came from
And I wonder if they really care or give a damn

Where do you go to, my lovely
When you're alone in your bed?
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes, I do

I remember the back streets of Naples
Two children begging in rags
Both touched with a burning ambition
To shake off their lowly brown tags and they try

So look into my face, Marie-Claire
And remember just who you are
Then go and forget me forever
But I know you still bear the scar deep inside, yes, you do

I know where you go to, my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
I know the thoughts that surround you
'Cause I can look inside your head

Nanana…" Peter Sarstedt