Thank You, Will Shortz

Familiarly,

As seen on T.V.

Comforting me,

Along the Piccadilly.

Well every Monday you make me hungry,

And by Friday I feel so ugly.

Each morning I’m making a bed of something better,

I find him, I feel it, the pain between his letters,

And how could I feel if I couldn’t find the letter,

To 20 and 64-down?

(ooh ooh, ooh ooh, thank you, Will Shortz)

Sat privately,

On Turkish upholstery,

Puzzling me,

I see him on page 16.

Each morning I wake up, I search for something better,

I find him, I feel it, the pain between his letters,

And how could I feel if I couldn’t find the letter,

To 20 and 60-

(ooh ooh, ooh ooh, thank you, Will Shortz)

(oohs)

Each morning you knit me a winter for my sweater,

I read what you send me in search of something better,

Surrounded by noises that serve as just a vessel,

The glory, it hits me like a mortar to a pestle.

A young man in leather with dreams of something better,

Born in Indiana but Manhattan’s where the set is.

So head what I tell you, I couldn’t word it better,

The joy that you gave me, the pain between your letters.

(ooh ooh, ooh ooh, thank you, Will Shortz)