Rosamond Oliver
Does not tread upon the ground
Rosamond Oliver
Levitates without a sound
As she floats on through your door
None could ask for any more
Than Rosamond Oliver
Blossoming cheek of red
Blessed Mary's vestal blue
Easily turn your head
And your best affections, too
And I'm always standing near
Shedding adolescent tears
O'er Rosamond Oliver
O, she is sure a work of fiction
O, such a clueless ingénue
Breathing feminine perfection
How will I ever live up to
Rosamond Oliver
Tell me what do you see
When you look into my eyes
Isn't there anything
That you will not criticize
What do you expect of me
I am never going to be
Like Rosamond Oliver
O, she is sure a work of fiction
O, such a clueless ingénue
Breathing feminine perfection
How will I ever live up to
Rosamond Oliver
Now I must take my leave
For I long have known the truth
So, don't play make-believe:
I am just a substitute
Go on wasting all your breath
I am about sick to death
Of Rosamond Oliver
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