I wrote this when I was in my twenties and, obviously, not doing too well in the romantic department!
It originally had a rather plaintive tune!
I am struck by the innocence of these fifty year old lyrics!
When they walk in the park on Sunday I watch them as they go
Two by two with a bill and coo,
Walking to and fro.
It's all so neat and practical, the way these things are done;
Moves sublimely tactical
Underneath the Sunday sun.
When they walk in the park on Sunday I feel like a wingless bird
Looking-on till life has gone;
My fate to always dream of things, my life my own affair.
They're all little cogs in the scheme of things
And I am just a spare!
When they walk in the park on Sunday I see with a jaundiced eye
How they smile and stop awhile
Just to gaze and sigh.
It's really so poetical, the way fond lovers act.
My knowledge is theoretical
While their's is solid fact.
Male disappointment here: