Meadowlark Sharon Lee Hill

[GENEVIEVE]
What does he think I am?
What sort of a weak-willed sentimental sheep does he think I am?
Well, I won't even think about him
I'll just go to sleep

Who does he think he is?
Who could be as handsome, who could be as smart as he thinks he is?
He just has to snap his fingers
Women fall apart

What does he think?
That I'll slink away with him?
That I'll follow him ripe and drooling?
Who does he think he is?
And what does he think I am?
And who do I think I'm fooling?

When I was a girl, I had a favorite story
Of the meadowlark who lived where the rivers wind
Her voice could match the angеls in its glory
But she was blind
The lark was blind

An old king came and took hеr to his palace
Where the walls were burnished bronze and golden braid
And he fed her fruit and nuts from an ivory chalice
And he prayed