Living in her mother's attic was the greatest of mistakes,
For she shares her bed with corpses of the dreams her father breaks.
She wanders through the streets without a shoelace to her shoe,
And she sees a crumpled paper and it makes her think of you.
She's so lonely (just a girl without a clue)
She's wants only (only wants to be with you)
She's the face (in the window of the train)
She's the shadow (that follows in the lane)
She's a little bit misguided but she means well when she does
All those things that make you wonder what that funny feeling was.
But every single morning when the rain comes pouring down
She is waiting in the phone booth, but she doesn't make a sound.
She's so lonely (she's the girl without a name)
She is only (only she is still the same)
Never mind the rags, the tatters of a broken childhood.
Look into the eyes of sadness and behold the hidden good.
She will love you like an angel; she'll protect you like a friend.
She will follow you to death's door and be with to you the end.
Madam, you have between your legs an instrument capable of giving pleasure to thousands and all you can do is scratch it.
-Sir Thomas Beecham to a lady cellist