(With appologies to Steven Sondheim)
Isn't it rich?
Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground,
You in mid-air.
Send in the gnomes.
Isn't it bliss?
Don't you approve?
One who keeps tearing around,
One who can't move.
Where are the gnomes?
Send in the gnomes.
Just when I'd stopped opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my usual flair,
Sure of my lines,
No one is there.
Don't you love farce?
My fault I fear.
I thought that you'd want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the gnomes?
Quick, send in the gnomes.
Don't bother, they're here.
Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer,
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the gnomes?
There ought to be gnomes.
Well, maybe next year.
