It’s not for lack of sweets that I weep,
Not a bump nor a bruise nor a finger in the door.
Restrictions on TV watching aren’t on,
No concerns being raised if I’ve finished my chores.
In order to say that anything’s wrong now,
Or that I’m being hassled I’d have to lie.
Which makes all this wailing’o’mine a N.A.R.C.,
A good, old-fashioned No Apparent Reason Cry.