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(A pseudo-lovesong) There was no starlight in her eyes when I asked her for a dance, but she was the only wallflower left, and beggars can’t be choosers. There was no starlight in her eyes. She cavorted to the beat like a waddling duck; her arms flayed like a windmill. Yeah, beggars can’t be choosers. There was no starlight in her eyes. Her clothes didn’t match her hair; they looked like hand-me-downs. See, beggars can’t be choosers. There was no starlight in her eyes. I guess that goes with being blind. |