I met him at a party just a couple of years ago. He was rather over-hearty and ridiculous. But as I'd seen him on the screen he cast a certain spell.. I'd basked in his attraction. For a couple of hours or so.. His manners were a fraction too meticulous. If he was real or not I couldn't tell. But like a silly fool I fell. Mad about the boy. I know it's stupid. To be mad about the boy.. I'm so ashamed of it. But must admit. The sleepless nights. I've had about the boy.. On the silver screen. He melts my foolish heart. In every single scene.. Although I'm quite aware. That here and there. Are traces of that cared about the boy.. Lord knows I'm not a fool girl. I really shouldn't care.. Lord knows I'm not a schoolgirl. In the flurry of her first affair.. Will it ever cloy. This odd diversity of misery and joy. I'm feeling quite insane. And young again. And all because. I'm mad about the boy.. It seems a little silly. For a girl of my age and weight. To walk down Piccadilly in a haze of light.. It ought to take her a good deal more. To take a bad girl down.. I should've been exempt for my particular kind of fate. As taught me such contempt for every phase of love. And now I've been and spent my love torn crown. To weep about a painted clown.. Mad about the boy. It's pretty funny. But I'm mad about the boy.. He has a gay appeal that makes me feel. There's maybe something sad about the boy.. Walking down the street. His eyes look out at me from people that I meet.. I can't believe it's true. But when I'm blue in some strange way. I'm glad about the boy.. I'm hardly sentimental. Love isn't so sublime.. I have to pay my rental. And I can't afford to waste much time.. If I could employ a little magic. That would finally destroy. This dream that pains me and it shames me. But I can't because I'm mad about the boy..