|
We'll plan to meet, |
|
At your parent's residence, |
|
I'll let my love for lechery, |
|
Take over me, and all my actions and all my words, |
|
But they so seldom occur, |
|
Lock the doors, turn the music loud, |
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Till our eardrums blow out, |
|
We'll create a buzz, |
|
So much, All the neighborhood will come by, |
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Cause all we are, |
|
Two kids, with two tin cans, |
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Connected by old strings, |
|
On our rooftops taking messages, |
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So tell a good story, |
|
To my answering machine, |
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Oh! How heartless |
|
I can be, |
|
I'm the one who's been calling you up, |
|
Late at night, |
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To make sure that you're sleeping sounds and tight, |
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So just hold your pride, |
|
Like you held your breath, |
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Waiting for the telephone to ring, |
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But your lungs are empty and your hips are motionless. |
