Correction Lyrics “You’re My Downfall....” by Stephen Sondheim

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Lyrics

You're my downfall

Pourquoi?

Pourquoi? You're a woman!

Nurse

You're no nurse

I am! But I'm a monster as a nurse!
Now, point une! My name is Apple, A-double-P-L-E. Fay Apple, qualified head nurse in charge of forty-nine patients in Dr. Detmold's asylum for the socially pressured!

Oh no, not you!

Now, point deux! There is an urgent matter of duty and responsibility. And I can never shirk either as I am a dedicated woman of science and control. And, in order not to identify my beloved Cookies, I am done up in this outlandish drеss and this ridiculous—

Lovely dress, lovely wig
Lovеly wig? I think if Madame Mayoress and Monsieur Schub think I am from Lourdes, perhaps, I can threaten them into letting my forty-nine Cookies take the miracle waters

What happens if they find your Cookies first?

They won't! I have stolen the records, which are in my handbag, which is in the living room, which is where we better go this minute, or I will never get you to help me!
Ow!

I'm just helping you take your things off!

Not my hair!

It's not your hair, it's a wig

Eight years ago, at the hospital where I was training, they put on a graduation play. I was what I still am: control and order. Everyone thought it would be funny to make me be a French soubrette. This was the dress, this was the accent, and this was wig. I wore it to the party afterwards. A week later, I woke up in a hotel room in Cleveland with an intern. Control and order out the window of that hotel room. I packed that dress, the wig, and the accent, and ever since, wherever I've gone, they've been in a box under my bed

A reminder

Yes. But I keep hoping
For what? Heh, a miracle?

Well—

Control and order? Woman of science? You're a fake. You really want your Cookies to take those waters! You'd like to soak in them yourself!

Alright, yes! I would! I need a miracle

Well, there aren't any! Go home to your asylum

Wait! I'll get drunk

Ha! I'll bet you can't

I can't. I can't be hypnotized, I can't laugh, not really. I can't whistle

Nonsense
No, true! I can't sing at parties, I can't play the piano by ear. When I was little, oh, my, how I wanted to. My gal friend could. Once, I walked into a music store, sat down at a big, shiny, grand piano, and I played. Well, you can take piano lessons, use a metronome, learn control and order, but you can't take lessons in whistling. So, you're a woman of science. Every walk I take, every street, every year, I wait

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