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A sweet young man sat on my chair |
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With a tape machine and a face of fear |
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He asked how does it feel to be who you are |
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I thought, this boy really thinks I'm a star |
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I answered him with humility |
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And then asked him if he'd like some tea |
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Interview, who's interviewing who |
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Are you interviewing me |
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Or am I interviewing you |
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He asked if the rug was some ancient, lovely thing |
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I lied and said "Yes a gift from a king" |
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I watched his arms and how his lips moved |
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He asked me if my parents approved |
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He asked to see my Ruby ring |
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And if as a child I had liked to sing |
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Interview, who's interviewing who |
|
Are you interviewing me |
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Or am I interviewing you |
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I said yes, Oh yes 400 times |
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"You're so open" he said "do you always tell the truth?" |
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"Never, " I said, "What's that?" |
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But how would it feel to hold me in your arms |
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You could get to know me down on the farm |
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Then you could see me as the child I've become |
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'Cause being grown up can be so lonesome |
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Baby, how would it feel to hold me now |
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Baby, how would it feel to hold me now |
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Interview, who's interviewing who |
|
Are you interviewing me |
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Or am i interviewing you |
