|
That reminds me of the time I felt |
|
It's time for sin and catholic guilt |
|
Two years later to the day |
|
I had reason to confess |
|
With her hair a shining shade |
|
Of bus-conductress blonde |
|
Tales of music and movement |
|
Were told in grip and groan |
|
But to put these thoughts |
|
In songs like theirs |
|
Of the honest truth |
|
There'd be no trace |
|
Just lying out loud |
|
Meanwhile back here in wonderland |
|
A sorry sight with flowers in hand |
|
Pours his heart out till his thirst |
|
For college girls is satisfied |
|
Standing there with ego |
|
Proudly on tip-toe |
|
All the time I'm thinking |
|
Well, well, here we go |
|
Another perfect song of grief |
|
Brings the house down to its knees |
|
By dying out loud |
|
One more awful dancer |
|
Steptoe's son a song and dance of love |
|
When I think of soap operas |
|
And what makes them so popular |
|
The answer's posing in front of my eyes |
|
Here comes our hero in hand-me-downs |
|
Strutting to the strain of |
|
'Send in the Clowns' |
|
Troops his true colours |
|
When no-one's around |
|
And his desk-top tales |
|
Are the best around but |
|
Putting pain to paper reads |
|
Like a lunge at fame and greed |
|
Just crying out loud |
