Well I spin round the room,

Stare at somebody else,

But I think that sometimes,

I embarass myself.



Like running in and out

And guessing just when to laugh,

Timing all my entrances,

And talking too fast.



Yes I trip over -something-

And sleep on the mat,

Cracking those rancid jokes,

That always fall flat.



Feeling like the sun who rose

To find it three o' clock,

The sun who rose the greener self

And found it's too hot.



Like a paupers dying daughter,

Whose counting what she's got,

Like a orphan coming actress

Whose finding she's not



Well your book sure is good

Always said it would be,

And thanks for selling

All the world,

The ins and outs of me.

Well you never spared a feeling,

Never thought that you would,

But when I get to thinking,

I still reckon it was good.



Like a paupers dying daughter,

Whose counting what she's got,

Like a orphan coming actress

Whose finding she's not



Well I spin round the room,

Stare at somebody else,

But I think that sometimes,

I embarass myself.



Like running in and out

And guessing just when to laugh,

Timing all my entrances,

And talking too fast, woo.