Dear orthodox,nI can't control my feelings,nAnd who hit me? nI just might benComing round the bushnAnd my stilts, they began crackingnSubsequently pushednnAnd I looked to see that it was shenJust some abandoned little crook like menAdieu, adieu, and fare thee wellnThis was the ending, pleasennOh, whoa,nI was attached on bended kneenBut I declined my leavennBut who could blamenA fraction of her being?nShe is cheesy, she is scrawnynWith her uncanny stylingnI'm teasing, she is pleasingnShe just has no witnnAnd I'm sorry I don't have her facenAnd I'm probably gonna lose this racenThere is no doubt she's such a mousenWith such an abstract gracennOh, whoa,nThere is no cure, I am surenFor these ten cent bluesnnAnd then she chose to dissect menAnd I was casted into povertynBut I did not agree with hernShe said, Now, you've got nerve,nBut I don't care if I'm granted nFor all these thingsnIf I were one among this crowd nWould you call that defeat?nnIn a way it's making me crazynIn a sense that it's making me strongernA likely chance, and it's probably provennIn the end we'll all walk awaynnShaking hands on the doormatnI salute you, sirnA stranger and a happy fitnI'm glad I'm part of itnAnd that I saw it all