All I want is to be the happy-go-lucky type
But somehow it creeps inside me and makes me want to run away from everything
Why am I like this?
Why can't I be like what I dream to be? ...
Suppose, my dear, that you were I
And by your side your sweetheart sate;
Suppose you noticed by and by
The distance 'twixt you were too great;
Now tell me, dear, what would you do?
I know-and so do you.