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 really had thought

She'd ought to be dead

And who would ever suppose that

That Was Grizabella the Glamour Cat

Grizabella the Glamour Cat

Grizabella the Glamour Cat

Who would ever suppose that that

Was Grizabella the Glamour Cat

Midnight not a sound from the pavement

Has the moon lost her memory

She is smiling alone

In the lamplight the withered

Leaves collect at my feet

And the wind begins to moan