I watched you in your tragic beuaty walk beneth my window. Eyes aimed high, but unfocused . . . . sure, you never noticed me. You always wore the same dress; always bore the same Expression: "It's a loveless world so what's the point of looking? Let it be . . ." I considered throwing roses--thought I'd maybe Wave a flag. Had to try and force some small connection-- But, there's a snag. It's my confession that I watch you in My tragic isolation. In my fear . . . that's the way it's been For years. That's the way it will always be . . .
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