What Is So Real As The Cry

There I Went Again, Building Up A Glamorous Picture Of A Man Who Would Love Me Passionately The Minute He Met Me, And All Out Of A Few Prosy Nothings.

I Am Myself. That Is Not Enough.

I Need Some Older, Wiser Being To Cry To. I Talk To God, But The Sky Is Empty, And Orion Walks By And Doesn't Speak.

I Don’t Care About Anyone, And The Feeling Is Quite Obviously Mutual.

In Spite Of Everything, I Still Have My Good Old Sense Of Humor.