Oh, hello Mr. Soul,
|
I dropped by
|
to pick up a reason
|
For the thought that I caught
|
that my head
|
is the event of the season
|
Why in crowds just a trace
|
of my face
|
could seem so pleasin'
|
I'll cop out to the change,
|
but a stranger
|
is putting the tease on.
|
|
I was down on a frown
|
when the messenger
|
brought me a letter
|
I was raised by the praise
|
of a fan
|
who said I upset her
|
Any girl in the world
|
could have easily
|
known me better
|
She said, You're strange,
|
but don't change,
|
and I let her.
|
|
In a while will the smile
|
on my face
|
turn to plaster?
|
Stick around while the clown
|
who is sick
|
does the trick of disaster
|
For the race of my head
|
and my face
|
is moving much faster
|
Is it strange I should change?
|
I don't know,
|
why don't you ask her?
|
|
-----------------
|
Hello Mr. Soul
|
| Neil Young |
