I'm susceptible to stars in the skies,
I'm incurably romantic,
If they're told to me all covered with sighs,
The wildest of lies seems true.
Each time a lovebird sings,
I have no defenses,
My heart is off on wings
Along with my senses.
I'm a set-up for the moon when it's bright,
I'm incurably romantic.
And I shouldn't be allowed out at night,
With anyone quite like you.
But, oh! Your arms are nice,
And it would be awfully nice
If you turned out to be starry-eyed like me,
And incurably romantic too.
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