Sunday in the Park with George

Lyrics

[GEORGE, spoken] White. A blank page or canvas.  The challenge: bring order to the whole.  Through design Composition Tension Balance Light And harmony.  [DOT, spoken] George.  Why is it you always get to sit in the shade while I have to stand in the sun? Hello, George? There is someone in this dress! (sung) A trickle of sweat The back of the head He always does this— Now the foot is dead Sunday in the park with George One more Su— The collar is damp Beginning to pinch The bustle's slipping— I won't budge one inch Who was at the zoo, George? Who was at the zoo? The monkeys and who, George? The monkeys and who? [GEORGE, spoken] Don't move.  [DOT] Artists are bizarre. Fixed. Cold.  That's you, George, you're bizarre. Fixed. Cold.  I like that in a man. Fixed. Cold.  God, it's hot out here Well, there are worse things Than staring at the water on a Sunday There are worse things Than staring at the water As you're posing for a picture Being painted by your lover In the middle of the summer On an island in the river On a Sunday The petticoat's wet Which adds to the weight The sun is blinding All right, concentrate [GEORGE, spoken] Eyes open, please.  [DOT] Sunday in the park with George! [GEORGE, spoken] Look out at the water, not at me [DOT] Sunday in the park with George! Well, if you want bread And respect and attention Not to say connection Modeling's no profession If you want instead When you're dead Some more public and more permanent Expression— Of affection— You want a painter Poet Sculptor, preferably Marble, granite, bronze Durable Something nice with swans That's durable Forever All it has to be is good And George, you're good You're really good George's stroke is tender George's touch is pure Your eyes, George I love your eyes, George I love your beard, George I love your size, George But most, George Of all But most of all I love your painting... I think I'm fainting... The tip of a stay Right under the tit No, don't give in, just— Lift the arm a bit... [GEORGE, spoken] Don't lift the arm, please.  [DOT] Sunday in the park with George! [GEORGE, spoken] The bustle high, please.  [DOT] Not even a nod As if I were trees The ground could open He would still say, "Please" Never know with you, George Who could know with you? The others I knew, George Before we get through I'll get to you, too God, I am so hot! Well there are worse things Than staring at the water on a Sunday There are worse things Than staring at the water As you're posing for a picture After sleeping on the ferry After getting up at seven To come over to an island In the middle of a river Half an hour from the city On a Sunday On a Sunday in the park with— [GEORGE, spoken] Don't move the mouth! [DOT] —George!