No one knows much about romance anymore,
The notion's passé and prosaic;
No one knows how to soar anymore,
And joy is a word that's archaic.

She says she's in love,
And I say the same,
It passes for love, I suppose,
But there's no haze,
There's never a haze,
And the world never glistens or glows.

No one knows much about romance anymore,
And it seems to apply to the planet;
no one knows how to soar anymore,
Emotions come packaged in granite.

So no one gets hurt
And no one despairs
And nobody loses or wins---
But what I'd give,
Oh, Lord, what I'd give
For some goose bumps and soft violins.

No one knows much about romance anymore,
The notion's passé and prosaic;
No one knows how to soar anymore,
And joy is a word that's archaic.