And We’ll Be Fine …

Many, many years ago I played piano at the Tilbury Hotel for a show of Kander and Ebb songs, performed by Jacqui Rae, called My Own Space.  Partly because the song is professionally written, and because Jacqui performed it so well, I didn’t realise at the time what a stunningly up-yourself number the title song was.  Is.

Once I’d heard Liza Minnelli’s version, from The Act, where the song originated, its impressive self-love became more apparent. But then, that entire show is one colossal ego-stroke.

What, I’ve wondered ever since, would be like to write my own version of this kind of song?  How would a man phrase such sentiments? A man who could never sing the result like Liza, and shouldn’t try?

Incidentally, this is the kind of cabaret song you shouldn’t pre-announce by its title.  ‘Cos it’s the punchline.

Make Me Happy

Everybody hungers for the secret
Of a love that burns forever,
Of an eternal first kiss.
And all this time I think I’ve known the secret.
It’s simple, my darling, it’s this:

Make me happy.
Every time we wake
Let’s devote the day
To finding some new way to make me happy.

Since human life began,
No higher calling than
To make me happy.

You, you’re always saying
You need a purpose
And you do.
You, you need a purpose
And I need someone who

Can make me happy, happy.
Bend your dreams to mine.
Make me happy, my love,
And we’ll be fine.

Questions, little questions, you have questions yes, I know,
But watch this trick: three magic words,
and poof! There they go.

Make me happy,
For our future’s sake.
Life goes in a rush,
So tell yourself to shush
And make me happy.

Your wand’ring years are done,
Now you’re the lucky one
To make me happy.

You, you’re such a giver,
You’re there for others,
Staunch and true.
You, you’re there for others,
So I’ll be here for you

To make me happy, happy.
No joy more profound
Than to watch me from the ground.
Make me happy, my love,
Your turn to fly, my love,
Is maybe
Next time around.

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