Through no real fault of your own,
You were born with a withering tone;
And through no real fault of your own
You were born.

And on the day when the teacher asked us:
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
You stood up and said, "What I want doesn't get"
And you proved it...

And while you're out on the town
Making people impress you,
I sit and rot at home--
I've been kept at arm's length
With industrial strength
From the word "Go."

So I don't have to tell you, I don't go.

Just for a second
You lowered your defenses,
And confessed what the world had guessed:
"Deep down I fear I might actually be
Unremarkable."

Well my dear, I have spent years
Just waiting for this moment
Because I'm afraid of being alone
And I'm afraid of being not alone.

But fun with you sounds too much like hard work.
Love with you: too much like hard work.
And the truth is unfurled: I'm not part of your world,
Which is fine, 'cause you're not part of mine.

You want no part in mine...
So do I.