| I’m a single white male thirty-two years old
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| And I’ve never been too great with the women
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| Well if the truth’s being told I’m not much good with people
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| I’ve been alone in all the places I lived in
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| But fate had forgiven my shortcomings and brought something Forth from inside
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| me that guides me when a call comes in
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| It’s as if I’m blessed with a gift to talk someone into a spell unknown
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| When I’m lecturin' with the telephone
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| But forced run-ins: face to face are hella hard
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| I’m afraid to date, but somehow make a great telemarketer
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| Cause I can sell Antarctica ice in wintertime
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| With twenty-nine inches that won’t melt and mark up the price
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| Might be the fact I’m alone
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| But most of the human contact I’ve known I’ve always had through the phone
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| So when I get back to the home where I live now
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| I sit down and dial my old map to see who answers up
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| Half the old ones I get the message:
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| «The number you have reached has been disconnected»
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| With ten digits entered from another past number
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| The ringing interrupts a man’s slumber (Hello?)
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| And that was just from last summer (Hello?)
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| The change is enormous
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| And keepin' up to speed is a real game of endurance
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| I always get some lame little office specializing in claims for insurance
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| Or maybe the occasional florist
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| Corner Florist
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| Hello?
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| Hello?
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| I’m sorry, what’d you say?
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| Corner Florist
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| Is this a flower shop?
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| Yes
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| Oh, I’m sorry I think I have the wrong number
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| OK, bye
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| Bye
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| Why am I still searching, and for what I don’t know
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| Perhaps a real person or some version of love on the phone
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| It’s like these ten little buttons have grown
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| So significant, my will’s worthless fighting off the gluttonous jones
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| So I chose a different number to try
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| And I was thinkin' I’d end up ringing another old guy
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| But when I reached the third line what a surprise
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| It was the first time in my whole life
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| On the telephone my tongue was so tied
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| Hello?
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| Hello?
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| Uh- uh…
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| Is there somebody there?
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| I can hear you
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| It must’ve been something we shared in the weird few moments of rare
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| Silence when I was quiet like no one was there
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| So unprepared to ever get your voice
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| I fell in love though I was scared like I was left no choice
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| But you can expect most boys who get a first taste of love in their thirties
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| To revert to their seventh birthday
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| That’s probably why I went the worst way
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| And devised a plan to get to know her with my voice disguised and invented
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| surveys:
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| «Hello?» |
| «Hi, I’m calling from the Census Department
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| I was hoping you could answer a few questions of ours, ma’am»
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| «Yeah, sure» «How many people live in your apartment?
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| What are their ages? |
| And by chance is anyone partners?»
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| «Well, it’s just me. |
| I’m 30 and I’m not married»
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| «Alrighty, do you move often, and have your jobs varied?»
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| «No, I’ve been here for the last 3 years
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| And, my jobs did you say?» |
| «Yes ma’am, how many past careers?»
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| «Well, I’m not really a people person, I’ve always worked in a lab»
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| «Ma'am I don’t blame you with all the jerks that we have
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| I take it you don’t get out much to flirt with the lads?»
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| «Are you kidding? |
| It’s just as well, men are perfectly crass»
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| Workin' the plans I had sown to build a rapport
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| I realized to have her by phone wouldn’t fulfill me no more
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| So using the skills I was born with
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| I got her address at home, killin' the calls
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| So I could see the best match that I’d known
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| Perhaps it was only a sad attempt to find the nerve it would take
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| To say goodbye to the phone and tell the girl to her face
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| «Well, I won’t put your day further to waste
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| Thanks for your time ma’am, sorry to disturb you, ok? |
| …bye»
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| «Ok… bye»
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| Desperate times call for closer measures
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| So I left behind the telephone and bought some telephoto lenses
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| Parked in a car, like those old detectives I watched from afar
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| And saw that she lived by herself alone and friendless
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| Then what I noticed next would leave me livid
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| Her only guest was a handsome guy whose weekly visits
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| Had her cry, by the time he would leave
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| I’d bet the guy was an ex or current flame unless my eyes were deceived
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| I tried to believe she cried to relieve heartache |
| But this guy wouldn’t leave, it seemed she was liable to be in harm’s way
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| If I could just sneak in her place I’d find it would lead to a trace
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| Of why she would keep lettin' this creep within arms length
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| Gettin' the piece was the easy part
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| Cause if by chance I met him when I crept in through the window I would need
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| the arms
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| I was breathin' hard when I stepped in
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| Broke the glass into shards with the weapon and tore the bedroom where she
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| sleeps apart
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| That’s when a creaking part of the floor and a twisting knob on the door
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| Startled me — I turned with the gun and shot it before
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| I realized I killed my own love
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| I dropped on all fours sobbin' and coughin' 'til I spilled my own guts
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| I came to still on the rug in the same room
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| Filled with the stuff I had tossed around and then I found in plain view
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| What seemed to be a diary sittin' beside my knee
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| I couldn’t make my mind believe the words that I would finally read:
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| Page one: «Thursday: five o' three
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| I was trying to sleep before the night shift when this guy woke me
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| He had a voice that had a vibe so sweet
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| It was caught in my thoughts and just wouldn’t let my mind go free»
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| I skipped to page seventy-four and read a bit more
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| «The only thing that I look forward to is gettin' his calls
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| If only I could get up the gall
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| I would tell him I loved h-» I had to skip right to the end of it all
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| As for the last passage it began: «Why me?
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| Where’s my mystery man, God? |
| How could you let this guy leave
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| Will all the bad times and depression I’ve seen
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| This just has to be the last life’s lesson I need
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| In fact this week’s visit with my little brother
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| He said if the cancer keeps gettin' worse it’ll kill our mother
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| He said the doc' said I should just accept that she’s dying
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| And from the second he left, I spent the rest of the week crying»
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| Let down, left out
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| Sad songs, poems, and lies
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| Don’t get your hopes up cause it gets the best of you
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| You get stepped on, let down, left out to dry, and you die |