ferrydust

When the sky is a bright canary yellow
I forget every cloud I’ve ever seen
So they call me a cockeyed optimist—immature and incurably green

I have heard people rant and rave and bellow
that we’re done and we might as well be dead
But I’m only a cockeyed optimist
and I can’t get it into my head

I hear the human race is falling on its face
and hasn’t very far to go…
But every whippoorwill is selling me a bill
and telling me it just ain’t so

I could say life is just a bowl of jello
and appear more intelligent and smart
but I’m stuck like a dope with this thing called hope—and I can’t get it out of my heart…
...not this heart.