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I do not like the way I feel, I'll crack up, blow a fuse and squeal. I find myself an awful mess, An awful truth it is, I guess. I dread the dawn, and dread the night; I hate I don't . . I hate I might . . . I cannot find my inner peace, My inner passions will not cease. I need to break this devilish spell. I need not feel quite this unwell. I do not ail, I am not ill. I have no reason to be shrill. I am afflicted, in much distress, And much, much more, I do confess! I rant and rave and rage and roar. I'd like to settle every score. And when I think of love at all... In love, its seems, I'm sure to fall. And when I think of love at all... In love, its seems, I'm soon to fall!
Text Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
This text was added to the website: 2009-03-03
Line count: 20
Word count: 150
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