There are all kinds of sentiments I wish to express to you if I could
But I can’t, my dear passionate sentences don’t survive here
No instead my feelings tend to be die, unfulfilled
Step aside and hide still, I hear the songs of Paddy McAloon
I confess to you ’cause I believe no neurotic impulse should turn inward on itself
No thought, or thoughtful gifts
To sing my delay fondness, I’d be walking on broken glass
No poems or singin’ birds
Just wild horses
All I’m saying, will try a state my ineffable to you
Well I sing to express my belief no neurotic impulse should turn inward on itself
With my hand on my heart, it’s a cornfield ablaze
While draining the mystery of love from your light smile
I admits all, to the modern rose
But you won’t let me, Venus
You make me suffer for all I wish gone done
I’m still be hurting when the soup kitchen close
Step aside and hide still, I hear the songs of Paddy McAloon
So if I gets it, my Doo-Wop in Harlem
Step aside and hide still, I hear the songs of Paddy McAloon
No thought, now I’m walking on broken glass
