| Every time I think that I'm the only one who's lonely
|
| Someone calls on me
|
| And every now and then I spend my time in rhyme and verse
|
| And curse those faults in me
|
| And then along comes Mary
|
| And does she want to give me kicks, and be my steady chick
|
| And give me pick of memories
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| Or maybe rather gather tales of all the fails and tribulations
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| No one ever sees
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| When we met I was sure out to lunch
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| Now my empty cup tastes as sweet as the punch
|
| When vague desire is the fire in the eyes of chicks
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| Whose sickness is the games they play
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| And when the masquerade is played and neighbor folks make jokes
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| As who is most to blame today
|
| And then along comes Mary
|
| And does she want to set them free, and let them see reality
|
| From where she got her name
|
| And will they struggle much when told that such a tender touch as hers
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| Will make them not the same
|
| When we met I was sure out to lunch
|
| Now my empty cup tastes as sweet as the punch
|
| And when the morning of the warning's passed, the gassed
|
| And flaccid kids are flung across the stars
|
| The psychodramas and the traumas gone
|
| The songs are left unsung and hung upon the scars
|
| And then along comes Mary
|
| And does she want to see the stains, the dead remains of all the pains
|
| She left the night before
|
| Or will their waking eyes reflect the lies, and make them
|
| Realize their urgent cry for sight no more
|
| When we met I was sure out to lunch
|
| Now my empty cup tastes as sweet as the punch |