Irene Was the American Girl
Irene was the American girl,
the only pretty one I should have based my romantic story on;
and that story is still unwritten...
not having been able to forget the rejection that turned into pain.
Two bright and respectful kids we were,
growing up with Bob Dylan's intellectual poetry,
but mine was the waltz of a beautiful song...
with the words of the truest love I had ever written.
Brown and blue eyes would have made green eyes,
blonde and brown hair would have made auburn hair;
nothing but the handsomest boy or even the prettiest girl...
for us to love and proudly share for many happy years ahead.
But who has been your darling since then?
Have you found tenderness in that man?
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