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.