- Back in Asia Minor,
There was once a civilization
Which had no old age pension plan
Or workman's compensation.
Still their crops were soundly planted
And their pottery perfected,
For lovers who'd been disenchanted
Were all protected.
For instance:
If a fellow fell out with one of the ladies
And contemplated drowning in the Tigres or the Euphrates,
Some friend of his would always come along,
Look down at him and sing this ancient song:
Rise, Lover, Rise,
Here's my hand,
Hold it tight,
Let me help you.
Look ahead,
See how this appears
When you look back
In a couple of years.
Please don't fret,
Talk it out
And I'll tell you the
things you can do to forget:
Learn a language,
Make ceramics,
Raise some pigeons---
And if that doesn't
work,
I've a list
Of some lovely young
things
Who'd be only too glad
to assist.
So,
Rise, lover, rise,
Take my hand,
Let me help
Cure your blues,
For I've all this advice
That I get much too
love-sick
To use.