I met a girl the other day. She seemed so content with this life and its parade.
She spoke in questions and smiled and looked so happy all the while

In my head, she is wrong. Yet her questions fill my brain.
She is fixed on beliefs that to me seem quite insane.
How can she look so alive when the rest of us are dying and wish that we were dead?

"Did you ever wonder about it all? How we started, where have we been and on and on?
Well I have thought about it," she said. I tell her she has been misled.

In my head she is wrong but her questions have their place.
Oh Clarisse, I wish I had the youthfulness that's in your face.
How can she look so alive when the rest of us are tired and wish that we were dead?

In my head she could be right and her questions have their place.
Oh Clarisse, I wish I had the youthfulness that's in your face.
How can she look so alive when the rest of us are dying and wish that we were dead?

In my head she is right, and her questions make me see.
Poor Clarisse. She is gone and no one seems to care but me.
How could someone so alive be made to suffer for the life she contained?
Who have we become that questions put our children to death?