I met him at a party
just a couple of years ago.
He was rather over -hearty and ridiculous,
but as I've seen him on the screen,
he cast a certain spell.
I basked in his attraction
for a couple of hours or so.
His manners were a fraction
too meticulous.
If he was real
or not, I couldn't tell.
But like a silly fool, I fell.
Mad about the boy.
I know it's stupid to be
mad about the boy.
I'm so
ashamed of it,
but must admit the sleepless nights
I've had about the boy.
On the silver screen,
he melts my foolish heart
in every single scene.
All of all, I'm well aware
that here and there are traces
of the care about the boy.
Lord knows I'm not a schoolgirl,
I really shouldn't care.
Lord knows I'm not a schoolgirl
in the flurry of her affairs.
Will it ever collide,
this odd diversity of misery and joy?
I'm feeling quite in
sane and young again,
and all because I'm mad
about the boy.
Mad about the boy.
It's pretty funny,
but I'm mad about the boy.
He has a gay appeal
that makes me feel
as maybe something's said
about the boy.
Walking down the street,
if I look out at me,
some people that I meet,
I can't believe it's true,
but when I'm blue,
in some strange way,
I'm glad about the noise.
I'm heartless and demental,
love isn't so sublime.
I have to pay my rental
and I can't afford to waste
much time.
If I could imply a little magic
that would finally destroy this dream
that pains me and enchains me.
But I can't,
because I'm full of love
for love.