Often I think this sad, old world
Is whistling in the dark;
Just like a child, who, late from school,
Walks bravely home through the park.
To keep their spirits soaring,
And keep the night at bay,
Neither quite knowing which way they are going,
They sing the shadows away.

Often I think my poor, old heart
Has given up for good;
And then I see a brave new face,
I glimpse some new neighborhood.
So walk me back home, my darling,
Tell me dreams [bad word] [bad word] 
Whistling, whistling, here in the dark with you,
Whistling, whistling, here in the dark with you.