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