Everytime I think that I'm the only one who's lonely
someone calls on me.
And every now and then I spend my time at 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 mem or ies?
Or maybe rather gather tales from all the fails
and tribulations no one ever sees?
When we met I was sure out to lunch,
Now my empty cup tastes as sweet as the punch.
When vague desire is the fire in the eyes of chicks,
whose sickness is the games they play.
And when the masquerade is played and neighbor folks make jokes
at 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 of hers 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.
Sweet as the punch sweet as the punch.
Sweet as the punch sweet as the punch.
Sweet as the punch.