the gardener hums a song
about Jehovah feeling blue
he must have known before
that the summer is coming through
and the girl who just walked by
is beat as beat can be
had I known what to say to her
I'd have fallen down on my knees

but, Micky, don't you be so sad
there is nothing you can do
but to wait around for people
who will sing their song as loud as you do

your left arm carries your bag
your right arm carries your soul
it's a miracle you don't tip over
it's a miracle you're there at all
but don't you know that I'm just a boy?
don't you know that I need you too?
if you will take me to the park
I'll make that gardener sing for you

but, Micky, don't you be so sad
there is nothing you can do
but to read a lot a books
that will tell you nothing's ever new

yesterday I got away
to my favourite place to read
and I told the handsome waiter
I met a girl who looked just like me
she had fists made of wool
and the eyes of William Blake
and the cigarette that she gave me
was the only thing that I could take

but, Micky, don't you be so sad
there is nothing you can do
but to hold on to your breath
and pretend that you're not turning blue

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