Cannot find the company to keep this heart alive
Its standards and requirements are of the strictest kind
and the local girls resistance
Does not help me with my efforts
In fact I think they’re here to torture me tonight

And it’s a fine night for torture
I’ll supply the weapons
Like these old high school tools
that tell me that I need her
And these phone book treatments
that tell me not to call her anymore

And all of my friends are rock star scholars
and they all seem to agree
That there is no love or comfort
in the presence of plain company
And though I question their intentions
and their claims to be scholarly
Their half-truths ring like fool truths to me

And if I seem dissatisfied with
Mrs. Read-Between-The-Lines
She’s number 45 or so
Numbers are labels they’re given by angels
And that’s not a blessing
No, that’s not a blessing in disguise
And these old high school tools
that tell me that I need her
And these foot ball buddies that tell me to go get her
And the oldest of men in me, he speaks to angelic beings
He asks her, "Is it worth the effort?"

And the time I’ll spend alone
With a woman I cannot see
Can be chalked up to the youngest
or the oldest of men in me
And though I despise my coming to
and or falling on these notions
The knife that stabs stings of her perfection

Cause she was close enough to perfection
You can check the records
She was not 17
She was not hanging off grocery store machines
Clients they will come and go
Of their own volition

And these old high school tools
that tell me that I need her
And these phone book treatments
that tell me not to call
And the consummate practitioner
tells me that I miss her
And I should