There once was a man who just couldn't cry
|
He hadn't cried for years and for years
|
Napalmed babies and the movie love story
|
For instance could not produce tears
|
As a child he had cried as all children will
|
Then at some point his tear ducts ran dry
|
He grew to be a man, the feces hit the fan
|
Things got bad, but he couldn't cry
|
|
His dog was run over, his wife up and left him
|
And after that he got sacked from his job
|
Lost his arm in the war, was laughed at by a whore
|
Ah, but sill not a sniffle or sob
|
|
His novel was refused, his movie was panned
|
And his big Broadway show was a flop
|
|
He got sent off to jail; you guessed it, no bail
|
Oh, but still not a dribble or drop
|
|
In jail he was beaten, bullied and buggered
|
And made to make license plates
|
Water and bread was all he was fed
|
But not once did a tear stain his face
|
Doctors were called in, scientists, too
|
Theologians were last and practically least
|
|
They all agreed sure enough; this was sure no cream
|
Puff
|
But in fact an insensitive beast
|
|
He was removed from jail and placed in a place
|
For the insensitive and the insane
|
He played lots of chess and made lots of friends
|
And he wept every time it would rain
|
|
Once it rained forty days and it rained forty nights
|
And he cried and he cried and he cried and he cried
|
|
On the forty-first day, he passed away
|
He just dehydrated and died
|
|
Well, he went up to heaven, located his dog
|
Not only that, but he rejoined his arm
|
Down below, all the critics, they took it all back
|
Cancer robbed the whore of her charm
|
|
His ex-wife died of stretch marks, his ex-employer went
|
Broke
|
The theologians were finally found out
|
|
Right down to the ground, that old jail house burned
|
Down
|
The earth suffered perpetual drought
|
|
-----------------
|
The Man Who Couldn't Cry
|
| Loudon Wainwright III |
