Though the songwriters of the industry Write most of the songs I do And it's clear that no one will ever Sing them quite the way I do I think tonight I'll sit down and write A heartfelt line or two And if they turn out good enough I owe every word to you To the kid I thought was a little too young To know what sadness was Who took me out when I was down And set out to find the cause Of why the lady had the blues And seemed on the verge of tears I tell you that kid must have been around For a hundred and fifty years And to the tough guy blonde with the front tooth gone And ships all over his chest Who approached me out on the promenade Of the beach heading into the west His friends lay around on the muscleman lawn Like a drunken pirate band But he turned into a gentleman Called me a lady and kissed my hand Though the songwriters of the industry Write most of the songs I do And it's clear that no one will ever Sing them quite the way I do I think tonight I'll sit down and write A heartfelt line or two And if they turn out good enough I owe every word to you To the man and the woman who threw me a glance As they picnicked by the sea And returned their gaze to the kid and the food So as not to bother me They got up to leave and the woman looked on As the man leaned down to say "You've always meant so much to us Don't want to bother you and have a nice day" And to the band of gypsies I call friends Who speak so carefully To their friend with a life unlike their own In its strange complexities Who have the patience of the saints When I've been down for a spell I wish it were a whole lot easier To find the words to wish them well Though the songwriters of the industry Write most of the songs I do And it's clear that no one will ever Sing them quite the way I do I think tonight I'll sit down and write A heartfelt line or two And if they turn out good enough I owe every word to you