Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da

Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice
In the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream

Waits at the window, wearing the face
That she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Last week a patient's parent asked me what was wrong with me because I don't have a husband.

In a split second I went from nurse to leper.

And it keeps me wondering, is there something wrong with not needing someone else?