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When the skies are bright canary yellow |
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I forget every cloud I've ever seen |
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So they called me a cockeyed optimist |
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Immature and incurably green |
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I have heard people rant and rave and bellow |
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That we're done and we might as well be dead |
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But I'm only a cockeyed optimist |
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And I can't get it out of my head |
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I hear the human race is falling on its face |
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And hasn't very far to go |
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But every whippoorwill is selling me a bill |
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And telling me it just ain't so |
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I could say life is just a bowl of Jello |
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And appear more intelligent and smart |
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But I'm stuck like a dope with a thing called hope |
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And I can't get it out of my heart |
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Not this heart |
