"How are you?"

They always ask, “How are you?”
But they don’t want to know.
I start to say I’m okay,
although that isn’t so.

Instead I think I’ll tell them
exactly how I feel.
Yeah, this time I won’t fake it;
I’ll tell them what is real.

“My leg is feeling gimpy
and my poor back is sore.”
They look at me with wonder
and so I tell them more.

“My stomach’s kind of queasy;
I think I might get sick.”
Well, now they get the message.
They move away real quick.

“I have this strange appendage
that’s growing on my back,
and something with my left foot
is really out of whack.”

I say this as they’re leaving.
They’re really moving fast.
I’m sorry that they’re going.
I saved the best for last.

“There’s something wrong inside me,
but no one knows just what.
They’re sending me for testing;
they don’t know what I’ve got.”

My doctor said, “Don’t worry.
You’re not contagious yet.
But see me in a week’s time.”
I think I’ll just forget.

Now no one asks, “How are you?”
‘Cause they don’t want to know.
The word has spread real quickly.
It’s traveled high and low.

So I don’t go out much now.
I stay home drinking wine.
But if they were to ask me,
I’d say, “I’m feeling fine.”