Someone woke up one incredible day.
Had an idea and was prompted to say,
"Let's build a city --
Where should it be?
How about the middle of that sea?"
Someone drew plans like a set for a stage,
Someone spilled colors all over the page.
Then they built it -- Cookie, ya know why?
Just so Leona could come here
And cry.
Some people cry at hellos and farewells,
Some people cry at nostalgia (with bells),
Some cry at weddings, some at the moon.
I cry promptly Mondays at high noon.
Some people cry at Vienna or Rome,
This one is mine, Cookie -- this one is home.
Look, they even painted the damn sky.
Just so Leona could come here
And cry.
"Let's build a city --
Where should it be?
How about the middle of that sea?"
Some people cry when they see there old pals,
Me, I'm a sucker for chimes and canals.
Look, they even painted the damn sky.
Just so Leona could come here
And stand like a lump, dripping wet with no shoes on
At noon on a Monday...
And cry.
Lloyd tells me, "Never go by plane."
I tell Lloyd,"Flying is insane."
We agree -- we would rather die.
We see a brochure, and sign for a tour
And what do we do? We fly!
It starts the minute you check in
Departure time is at noon,
A cup of tea and a schnecken,
And -- quick! -- it's leaving soon.
One o-clock and you're at the gate,
Two o-clock and the flight's delayed,
When you finally leave it's eight,
And what do we do? We fly!
I hate planes, sitting three abreast.
I hate planes, never get a rest.
I hate planes (I hate...
Ev'ry single one.)
The crossing was rough --
Which wasn't enough,
The fun hadn't yet begun.
The seat was throwing my back out,
But there I was with a book,
When suddenly there's a black out,
And everywhere I look
Is a close-up of Doris Day,
Ninety minutes of Doris Day,
There was nothing to do but pray,
And how do we go? We fly!
I hate planes, most of all the sound.
I hate planes, even on the ground.
Can't stand planes (I hate...
Even more than those....)
The kids in aisle
Surrounding you while
Their parents pretend to doze.
The kid I noticed the first was
The one who stood on my feet.
The kid I hated the worst was
The one who kicked my seat.
There was one in the left who bit,
There was one in the right who spit,
There was one in the back I hit.
But what did we do? We flew!
I hate planes. Never can adapt.
I hate planes. Always feel I'm trapped.
Can't stand planes (I hate...
most of all, the chow.)
To know what is what
Is difficult, but
I think I've discovered how.
The shiny stuff is tomatoes,
The salad lies in a group,
The curly stuff is potatoes,
The stuff that moves is soup.
Anything that is white is sweet,
Anything that is brown is meat,
Anything that is gray -- don't eat.
But what do we do? We fly!
You're zooming up like a comet
Your ears are starting to ring,
Your neighbors starting to vomit,
There's ice along the wing.
As you wait for you palms to dry
You can see your whole life flash by,
And they tell you it's fun to fly --
Your chance to survive is so remote,
You're far better off to cut your throat.
But who has the time to take a boat?
What do we do? We fly!
WE’RE GONNA BE ALRIGHT (Published Lyric)
It may not all be bliss, but every wound is treatable.
We won't go under -- we're gonna be alright.
Don't see how we can miss; our team is undefeatable,
I wouldn't wonder -- we're gonna be alright.
We may have had unhappy landings, misunderstandings --
We're still growing.
Some years are bad. We're hale and hearty -- we'll keep the party
Going.
Hey babe, let's have a kiss. Remember -- we're unbeatable.
We're gonna blunder -- we're gonna hold on tight.
Hi ho -- we're gonna be alright.
WE’RE GONNA BE ALRIGHT (Unpublished Lyric)
Honey Bunch, sad to say but I have a hunch
Screen romances went out-to-lunch -- that's no reason to pout.
Don't look bleak -- happy endings can spring a leak,
'Ever after can mean one week,
We're just having a drought.
Smile and sweat it out.
If we can just hang on, we'll have compatibility
You musn't worry -- we're gonna be alright.
One day the ache is gone.
(There's nothing like senility.)
So what's your hurry -- we're gonna be alright.
Meanwhile, relax.
You take a lover, I'll take a lover
When that's played-out, they get the axe.
We can retire, sit by the fire.
Fade out.
We'll build our house upon
The rock of my virility
We'd better scurry -- we're gonna be all night.
Oh boy -- we're gonna be alright.
I was told just be faithful and never scold,
Sounded easy so I was sold -- I've been miserable since.
I was taught when the prince and the dragon fought
That the dragon was always caught,
Now I don't even wince
When it eats the prince.
I know I perfect pair -- they're lives are at the pinnacle.
But how do we know they're gonna be alright.
The bride is slightly square, the groom is slightly cynical
A little vino -- they're gonna be alright.
She aims to please. She has a baby
Then though they maybe having fine times
When there's a crise, she has another
Now she's a mother
Nine times.
It all went wrong -- but where?
Details are slightly clinical.
She's out in Reno. The kids adored the flight.
Hi ho -- they're gonna be alright.
Honey Child, bury everything. Learn to smile
Happy couples can stay in style just by practicing charm.
All is well ('least as far as their friends can tell).
Please ignore the peculiar smell -- there's no cause for alarm.
(Mildew will do harm.)
She once was quite well read.
He once was intellectual.
No one's suspicious -- they're gonna be alright.
She's nice and sweet and dead.
He's tall and ineffectual.
They look delicious -- they're gonna be alright.
Who's on the skids? She goes to night school
(If it's the right school, he'll permit her.)
They love their kids, they love their friends too
Lately he tends to
Hit her.
Sometimes she drinks in bed,
Sometimes he's homosexual,
But why be vicious? They keep it out of sight?
Good show -- they're gonna be all right.
And so -- they're gonna be alright.
Hi ho -- we're gonna be alright.
I remember sky --
It was blue as ink.
Or at least I think
I remember sky
I remember snow --
Soft as feathers
Sharp as thumbtacks
Coming down like lint
And it made you squint
When the wind would blow
And ice, like vinyl on the streets,
Cold as silver, white as sheets,
Rain like strings
And changing things
Like leaves.
I remember leaves --
Green as spearmint, crisp as paper
I remember trees --
Bare as coat racks
Spread like broken umbrellas.
And parks and bridges, ponds and zoos,
Ruddy faces, muddy shoes.
Light and noise
And bees and boys
And days.
I remember days --
Or at least, I try.
But as years go by
They're a sort of haze.
And the bluest ink
Isn't really sky.
And at times, I think
I would gladly die
For a day
Of sky.
Why did he look at her that way?
Why did he look at her that way?
Must be my imagination..
She's a lovely, blooming flower,
He's just a sprout -- impossible!
She's a lovely, blooming flower
He's all worn out -- impossible!
Just a fledgling in the nest...
Just a man who needs a rest...
He's a beamish boy at best...
Poor old fellow...
He's a child and love's a test
He's too young to pass -- impassable!
He has asthma, gout, a wife
Lumbago and gas -- irascible!
Romping the nursery...
He looks tired...
Son, sit on your father's knee.
Father, you can lean on me.
Him?
Impossible!
But why did she wave at him that way?
Why did she wave at him that way?
Could there be an explanation?
Women often want a father,
She may want mine -- it's possible!
He's a handsome lad of twenty,
I'm thirty-nine -- it's possible!
Older men know so much more...
In a way, I'm forty-four...
Next to him, I'll seem a bore...
All right, fifty!
Then again, he is my father,
I ought to trust -- impossible!
Then again, with love at my age,
Sometimes it's just -- impossible!
With a girl, I'm ill-at-ease...
I don't feel well...
Sir, about those birds and bees...
Son, a glass of water, please...
The situation's fraught,
Fraughter than I thought,
With horrible,
Impossible,
Possibilities!
Anyone can whistle,
That's what they say --
Easy.
Anyone can whistle,
Any old day --
Easy.
It's all so simple,
Relax, let go, let fly.
So someone tell me
Why can't I?
I can dance a tango,
I can read Greek --
Easy.
I can slay a dragon
Any old week --
Easy.
What's hard is simple;
What's natural comes hard.
Maybe you could show me
How to let go,
Lower my guard,
Learn to be free.
Maybe if you whistle --
Whistle for me.
Another hundred people just got off of the train
And came up through the ground
While another hundred people just got off of the bus
And are looking around
At another hundred people who got off of the plane
And are looking at us
Who got off of the train
And the plane and the bus
Maybe yesterday.
It's a city of strangers --
Some come to work, some to play --
A city of strangers --
Some come to stare, some to stay,
And every day
The ones who stay
Can find each other in the crowded streets and the guarded parks,
By the rusty fountains and the dusty trees with the battered barks,
And they walk together past the postered walls with the crude remarks,
And they meet at parties through the friends of friends who they never
know.
Will you pick me up or do I meet you there or shall we let it go?
Did you get my message? 'Cause I looked in vain.
Can we see each other Tuesday if it doesn't rain?
Look, I'll call you in the morning or my service will explain...
And another hundred people just got off of the train.
You're always sorry,
You're always grateful
You're always wondering what might have been.
Then she walks in.
And still you're sorry,
And still you're grateful,
And still you wonder and still you doubt,
And she goes out.
Everything's different,
Nothing's changed,
Only maybe slightly
Rearranged.
You're sorry-grateful,
Regretful-happy.
Why look for answers where none occur?
You always are what you always were,
Which has nothing to do with,
All to do with her.
You're always sorry,
You're always grateful,
You hold her thinking, "I'm not alone."
You're still alone.
You don't live for her,
You do live with her,
You're scared she's starting to drift away
And scared she'll stay.
Good things get better,
Bad get worse.
Wait -- I think I meant that in reverse.
You're sorry-grateful,
Regretful-happy,
Why look for answers where none occur?
You'll always be what you always were,
Which has nothing to do with,
All to do with her.
Never judge a book by its cover.
The thing that counts is what's inside.
Never judge a lady by her lover --
It isn't a reliable guide.
The lady may decide her obligations
Are merely to reflect his expectations.
If his idea of ecstasy's
To see what he expects to see --
Well, ignorance is bliss.
But think of what he'll miss...
She was smart, tart, dry as a martini.
Ah, but underneath...
She was all heart, something by Puccini,
Ah, but underneath...
In the depths of her interior
Were fears she was inferior.
And something even eerier.
But no one dared to query her superior exterior.
She was chic, sleek, anything in fashion --
That was just a shell.
Take a close peek, you could see the passion --
That was one as well.
To conclude, you'd soon discover the secret of her ap-peal,
Was the wonder which lay underneath --
Which she wasn't about to reveal.
That was her liability, the curse of versatility.
She'd only allow a man to see enough to fan his fantasy.
She made compliance into a science,
One of the giants -- loud or lewd or lah-dee-dah-dee,
Everything to everybody.
As changeable as a chameleon with all that entails.
But nobody saw what was really underneath all those veils.
She was grand, bland, brave or brisk or brittle,
Anything required,
Both concerned and strictly non-committal --
And a little tired.
She was deftly deferential, or so they wrote on her wreath.
No one ever glimpsed her potential,
But when stripped down to the essential --
Mind you, this is confidential:
Way down underneath...
She was --
Sometimes when the wrappings fall,
There's nothing underneath at all.
Here's a little story that should make you cry,
About two unhappy dames,
Let us call them Lucy X and Jessie Y,
Which are not their real names.
Now Lucy has the purity along with the unsure-ity
That comes with being only 21.
Jessie has maturity and plenty of security,
Whatever you can do with them she's done.
Given their advantages you may ask why
The two ladies have such grief.
This is my belief, in brief.
Lucy is juicy but terribly drab,
Jessie is dressy but cold as a slab,
Lucy wants to be dressy,
Jessie want to be juicy,
Lucy wants to be Jessie,
And Jessie, Lucy,
You see Jessie is racy but hard as a rock,
Lucy is lacy but dull as a smock,
Jessie wants to be lacy,
Lucy wants to be Jessie,
That's the sorrowful precis,
It's very messy.
Poor sad souls, itching to be switching roles,
Lucy wants to do what Jessie does,
Jessie wants to be what Lucy was.
Lucy's a lassie you pat on the head,
Jessie is classy but virtually dead,
Lucy wants to be classy, Jessie wants to be lassie,
If Lucy and Jessie could only combine,
I could tell you someone who would finally feel
Just fine.
Now this is the tale of a dame known as Harriet,
Who climbed to the top of the heap from the bottom.
A beautiful life was her aim, and to vary it,
She wanted the sun and moon -- and she got 'em.
She isn't the least exhausted from her climb,
But she does look back from time to time,
And the subject of this evening's quiz
Is who she was and who she is.
Uptown, she's stepping out with a swell.
Downtown, she's holding hands on the El.
Hyphenated Harriet, the nouveau from New Rochelle.
Uptown, she's got the Vanderbilt clans.
Downtown, she's with the sidewalk Cezannes.
Hyphenated Harriet, the nouveau from New Rochelle.
She sits at the Ritz with her splits of Mumms
And starts to pine for a stein with her Village chums,
But with a Schlitz in her mitts down at Fitzroy's Bar,
She dreams of the Ritz, oh it's so schizo.
Uptown, it's Harry Winston she needs,
Downtown, it's strictly zircons and beads.
Ask her, should she be uptown or down?
She's two of the most miserable girls in town.