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Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn! |
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I've grown accustomed to her face. |
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She almost makes the day begin. |
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I've grown accustomed to the tune that |
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She whistles night and noon. |
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Her smiles, her frowns, |
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Her ups, her downs |
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Are second nature to me now; |
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Like breathing out and breathing in. |
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I was serenely independent and content before we met; |
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Surely I could always be that way again- |
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And yet |
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I've grown accustomed to her look; |
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Accustomed to her voice; |
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Accustomed to her face. |
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[Spoken] |
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"Marry Freddy." What an infantile idea. What a heartless, |
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Wicked, brainless thing to do. But she'll regret, she'll |
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Regret it. It's doomed before they even take the vow! |
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[Sung] |
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I can see her now, Mrs. Freddy Eynsford-Hill |
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In a wretched little flat above a store. |
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I can see her now, not a penny in the till, |
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And a bill collector beating at the door. |
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She'll try to teach the things I taught her, |
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And end up selling flowers instead. |
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Begging for her bread and water, |
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While her husband has his breakfast in bed. |
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In a year, or so, when she's prematurely grey, |
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And the blossom in her cheek has turned to chalk. |
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She'll come home, and lo, he'll have upped and run away |
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With a social-climbing heiress from New York. |
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Poor Eliza. How simply frightful! |
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How humiliating! How delightful! |
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How poignant it'll be on that inevitable night |
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When she hammers on my door in tears and rags. |
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Miserable and lonely, repentant and contrite. |
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Will I take her in or hurl her to the walls? |
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Give her kindness or the treatment she deserves? |
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Will I take her back or throw the baggage out? |
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But I'm a most forgiving man; |
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The sort who never could, ever would, |
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Take a position and staunchly never budge. |
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A most forgiving man. |
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But, I shall never take her back, |
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If she were even crawling on her knees. |
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Let her promise to atone; |
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Let her shiver, let her moan; |
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I'll slam the door and let the hell-cat freeze! |
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[Spoken] |
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"Marry Freddy"-h a! |
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[Sung] |
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But I'm so used to hear her say |
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"Good morning" ev'ry day. |
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Her joys, her woes, |
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Her highs, her lows, |
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Are second nature to me now; |
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Like breathing out and breathing in. |
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I'm very grateful she's a woman |
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And so easy to forget; |
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Rather like a habit |
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One can always break- |
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And yet, |
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I've grown accustomed to the trace |
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Of something in the air; |
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Accustomed to her face. |
