When the sky is a bright canary yellow, I forget every cloud I've ever
seen,
So they call me a cock-eyed optimist, Immature and incurably green.
I have heard people rant and rave and bellow, that we're done and we might
as well be dead.
But I'm only a cock-eye optimist, and I can't get it into my head.
I hear the human race is falling on it's face and hasn't very far to go.
But every whippoorwill is selling me a bill and telling me it just ain't
so.
I could say that life is just a bowl of jello and appear more intelligent
and smart,
But I'm stuck like a dope with a thing called hope and I can't get it
out of my heart!
Not this heart!
