Where do you go, you sleepy-time angel?
Where do you write true heart's song?
Dancing in time to the music not playing
But the record will spin once you're gone.

Whimsical wonders pass right through your fingers...
Life's but a dance and thanks God you're the singer...

Where are you now, you ghost of a stranger?
Where are your crippling, deep thoughts?
The record, it spins, but the songs, they mean nothing
Without the precious gems your voice wrought.

Sweet, perfumed hair and the lilacs that linger...
Life's but a dance and thanks God you're the singer...