by Ira Gershwin
They're writing songs of love,
But not for me;
The lucky star's above,
But not for me.
With love to lead the way,
I've found more skies of gray
Than any Russian play
Could guarantee.
I was a fool to fall
And get that way.
Heigh ho! Alas! And also, lackaday!
Although I can't dismiss
The mem'ry of her kiss
I guess she's not for me.
It all began so well,
But what an end!
This is the time a fella needs a friend
When every happy plot
Ends with a the marriage knot
But there's no knot for me.
