Melancholy. . .

It's a melancholy world when you can't tell the stones from the pearls. You can't imagine what my motives are or what I'm feeling. But the lights are bright on Broadway. And the birds begin to sing as America pours her first cup of coffee. It's a melancholy world.

It's a melancholy world when either it's the big brass ring or the girl. I just can't seem to hold on to the dreams I've worked so hard for. And the crowd is there at midnight where the party's just begun. There's a gold invitation that bears my name but it's gotten lost in the mail.

The mirror holds the same old dour reflection that is used to. And the sun will rise in the morning and the stars will light the night. If they just took the time, listened to my sad song. It's a melancholy world.

MELANCHOLY WORLD
©1994, 2003 Raymond M. Jozwiak



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