| On pieces of paper
|
| Recording them now
|
| And recalling them later.
|
| It remains a mystery
|
| The pages of history
|
| Outlasted the passing
|
| Of things that were dear to me.
|
| Those wonderful children
|
| With bright shining faces
|
| They waltzed in the halls
|
| And they marched in their places
|
| The darlings of dancing,
|
| And spinning, and reeling.
|
| Look into their eyes
|
| To see what they’re feeling.
|
| It’s almost too much for him
|
| Bearing the cross he’s carrying.
|
| It’s almost too much for him
|
| Wearing the face he’s wearing.
|
| Why don’t you change your style?
|
| Why don’t you change your style?
|
| Why don’t you change your style?
|
| He wants to find men
|
| Who can love for no reason,
|
| Who open their hearts
|
| To life of all seasons
|
| But they’ve all gone, it seems
|
| Off in their limousines—
|
| I want to live where men
|
| Can believe their dreams.
|
| It’s almost too much for him
|
| Bearing this cross I’m carrying.
|
| It’s almost too much for him
|
| Wearing this face I’m wearing.
|
| Why don’t you change your style?
|
| Think I’ll change my style.
|
| Why don’t you change your style?
|
| Think I’ll change my style.
|
| Why don’t you change your style?
|
| Change
|
| Why don’t you change your style?
|
| Change… |