ILLYA in the MORNING (SONG: to the tune of "Mary in the Morning" C'mon, folks-I KNOW you remember 1967)
Nothing's quite as pretty
As Illya in the morning,
Tangled in my sofa bed
With sunlight in his hair…
# # #
He sleeps so soft,
His holster strapped beside him,
Dreaming of the Thrush-ian spies
He chases far away….away…
# # # chorus # # #
And Illya's there,
On DVD or fan-fic stor-or-y,
His cause is true,
His eyes so blue,
And he's so smart—
His voice, oh, Lor-or-dy….
# # #
Nothing's quite as pretty
As Illya in the evening,
Curled up in a favorite chair
With vodka in his hand,
# # #
And when the case is solved,
I'll kiss away his bruises,
And pen a story where
The heroine is me, tee-hee….tee-hee….