At the time of the gilding and flounces, frivolous marquis and canopies to the little face charges for a minuet shy sketched three small steps. Thanksgiving flights, old tunes from the past, brittle harpsichord to the resonances of old, a white wig kid was dancing all these people. No, you do not yet exist. Brazil was not there. Sweet melody that made a hundred times around the world and Mozart neglected to embellish some cha cha cha. On your gay rhythm, dance brunettes and blondes, forgetting the very near time when your little drummed fingers. It's your old Turkish March. Come marquise, listen to this! Near Istanbul, under pergolas, all Turks young people go dancing. And the fresh smell of roses scenting their antics just as disturbing sky nights of gala. When a beautiful dancer hugging a girl in his arms, in the eyes of his partner knows what he will find. This gay chorus that intoxicates us and that never will end Whether Rio, Paris, New York, the Dardanelles, it can not last long when we hear come the cha cha cha. tropical rhythm to amber and cinnamon scents, takes us far from all glad and rejoice. Starry nights on the Bosphorus. Turkish funny stuff this thing. Oh no, really, it is not strong. Mozart did not deserve that. But must live.