Through no real fault of your own,   You were born with a withering tone;   And through no real fault of your own   You were born.      And on the day when the teacher asked us:   "What do you want to be when you grow up?"   You stood up and said, "What I want doesn't get"   And you proved it...      And while you're out on the town   Making people impress you,   I sit and rot at home--   I've been kept at arm's length   With industrial strength   From the word "Go."      So I don't have to tell you, I don't go.      Just for a second   You lowered your defenses,   And confessed what the world had guessed:   "Deep down I fear I might actually be   Unremarkable."      Well my dear, I have spent years   Just waiting for this moment   Because I'm afraid of being alone   And I'm afraid of being not alone.      But fun with you sounds too much like hard work.   Love with you: too much like hard work.   And the truth is unfurled: I'm not part of your world,   Which is fine, 'cause you're not part of mine.      You want no part in mine...   So do I.