Quite Rightly So

Procol Harum

For you (whose eyes were opened wide whilst mine refused to see) 
I'm sore in need of saving grace. Be kind and humour me
I'm lost amidst a sea of wheat 
where people speak but seldom meet 
And grief and laughter, strange but true 
Although they die, they seldom cry 

An ode by any other name I know might read more sweet 
Perhaps the sun will never shine upon my field of wheat 
But still in closing, let me say 
for those too sick, too sick to see 
though nothing shows, yes, someone knows 
I wish that one was me