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I suffer busy tear ducts,

They must be very clean,

They're washed out almost every day,

And odd times in between.

I've never known a moment,

When my cheeks are really dry,

I try to laugh, but I'm beaten back,

By a silly need to cry.

I get so sentimental,

About lonely rendezvous,

Before I know I've been stood up,

I'm crying over you.

I'm crying everywhere I go,

I'm crying in the street,

I'm crying when I go to bed,

I'm crying in my sleep.

I'm crying before breakfast,

I'm crying before tea

I'm crying in the hope one day,

My crying days will cease.

© Joseph G Dawson



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