I'm a songwriter and I know just where I stand
I'm a songwriter, pen and paper in my hand
Get the words on the page
Please don't call me a sage,
I'm a songwriter

I'm a songwriter and I do it for a living
I'm a songwriter and I write about men and women
I can write about love and the stars up above
I'm a songwriter

I'm a songwriter and I'm hot on your trail

In the afternoon, baby in my room
When the lights are dim way beyond the hill
In the afternoon, baby in my room
When I'm really down get me off the ground
Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia

In the morning time when I go outside
In the morning time it's like that all the while
In the afternoon when I'm in my room
Every single day, it won't go away

When it's not always raining there'll be days like this
When there's no one complaining there'll be days like this
When everything falls into place like the flick of a switch
Well my mama told me there'll be days like this

When you don't need to worry there'll be days like this
When no one's in a hurry there'll be days like this
When you don't get betrayed by that old Judas kiss

We didn't know no better, and they said it could be worse
Some people thought it was blessing
Other people think that it's a curse
It's a choice between fact and fiction
And the whole world has gone astray
That's why there's no religion, no religion, no religion here today

And there's no straight answers
Of what this thing called love is all about
Some say it's unconditional

It's not high finance, it's called heart and soul
If it's rock and roll, got to go, go, go, go, go
Gonna keep moving on up to the higher ground
Gonna keep on moving on up, I got to stand my ground
Gonna keep on moving on up, I wanna stick around
Won't let the bastards grind me down
Won't let the bastards grind me down
Won't let the bastards grind me down

Take it or leave it I've heard it been said
All this Spring fever's just way over my head
Stealing my moments, taking up all my time
It's playing Russian Roulette with my mind

It's none of my business baby just what's going on
I'm not going to wait till somebody throw me a bone
I'm way out on a limb now, and nothing seems to rhyme
It's playing Russian Roulette with my mind

Now baby, just lately you've been holding back too much
Your looks and my language, this could be the perfect touch
What you are asking fits with everything on my list
This could be the perfect fit

Tell me that it's madness to want something quite like this
But they don't understand the magic that I can't resist
Oh, and wouldn't it be so tragic if everything just went amiss