Why
3 o clock in the morning
Words wake me in my sleep
Take my pen and begin to write
My thoughts are way too deep
Why can’t everything be black and white
And not that cloudy grey
Why is there no rhyme or reason
Why is that things turn out
that same predictable way
Why is it always a matter of time
Why can’t it be now
Why is life such a pantomime
The villains, the dames, the silly cow
Why so complicated and enigmatical
Nonsensical to an open mind
Will it always be just around the corner
Why is true love hard to find
And when you find it
Is love really blind.
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