Why

3 o clock in the morning Words wake me in my sleep Take my pen and begin to write My thoughts are way too deep Why can’t everything be black and white And not that cloudy grey Why is there no rhyme or reason Why is that things turn out that same predictable way Why is it always a matter of time Why can’t it be now Why is life such a pantomime The villains, the dames, the silly cow Why so complicated and enigmatical Nonsensical to an open mind Will it always be just around the corner Why is true love hard to find And when you find it Is love really blind.