A WHITER SHADE OF PALE

A WHITER SHADE OF PALE

PROCOL HARUM Keith Reid & Gary Brooker

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We skipped the light fandago,

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Turned cart wheels a cross the floor.

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I was felling kind of seasick,

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The crowd called out for more.

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The room was hamming harder,

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As the ceiling flew a way.

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When we called out for another

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drink the water brought a tray and so it was

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much later as the maitre told his tale.

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That the face of her’s just ghostly turned

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a whiter shade of pale.

She said there is no reason and the truth is plain to see.

But I wondered through my playing cards

would not let her be.

One of sixteen vestal virgins who were leaving for the coast.

And although my eyes were open the might

just as well been closed

And it was much later as the maitre told his tale that the face of her’s just ghostly turned a whiter shade of pale.