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(chorus) |
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I'll read you poetry, I'll tell you what I know to be true |
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I'll make a sentimental observation bout the moon |
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I'll kiss you so that you could think that kisses are sublime |
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But I won't spend a penny, 'cuz all that you're worth is my time |
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You want flowers, I understand that flowers are grand |
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They tend to pretty up a gentleman caller's left hand |
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They don't stand in for love but they symbolize aptly |
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Grab a handful of blossoms as I pass by the crab tree |
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Hand these to the recipient of my affections |
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Urge they float in a crystal bowl, which I don't provide |
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The misdirections of the close magic practitioner |
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Unlike Bruce Wanye's winking subterfuge with the commissioner |
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As compared to my ability |
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to convince you that the mints you had fragility |
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Of wafer thinness established were gourmet |
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Palmed though they were from the bulk bin at Safeway |
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Hey, you want better, you better want what you need |
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Not too much in excess of that, lest you flaunt with your greed |
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"I want to be in love at any price" |
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Who would seek a dozen roses when a posy would suffice? |
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(chorus) |
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And I don't mean to bother my pretty head with the math |
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But I've yet to spend a nickel and I'm pretty good with the past |
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I'm pretty solid on the figures, they add up |
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Curvature never to enter into the graph of the ones that had love |
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And memorize a number of them, oh but you're final |
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Take the needle off the record, take the finger off the vinyl |
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I'll assign all necessary function to the heart |
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Another economy of the energy that's involved |
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But it's apart from the pocketbook and the bookkeeping thereof |
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That ledger's glued together, to open up's rough |
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Very difficult, and barely worth the effort |
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You wonder when we're going to Peru again? Never |
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Sever that fantasy from out your conscious mind |
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Let's just springin for the cabride down and that's just fine |
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I don't offer brim and coffers on the cost of your disgrace |
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A contender's sweet nothings, come on over to my place |
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(chorus) |
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We write rhymes when you meet us on the shores of the Seine |
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You would weep in between us, there's a gathering refrain |
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Cheapskate's what you call us in those moments of disdain |
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And it don't seem to me we're entitled to the name |
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Cheap what? Dirty word for such a generous soul |
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Who could lavish affection without any venerous goal |
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Or who, with such a goal in mind could apprehend |
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Any climax in the offing so as not to proceed a friend |
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And indeed the end of the world could be upon us |
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It could be you and me blazenly enough to astonish |
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All onlookers with the glory of our passion |
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I know my sentimental earnestness is not so much in fashion |
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But I'll keep it round the house, some day you'll think it's vintage |
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Instead of deeming it narcotic as is Olive's take on spinach |
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I'm gonna finish what I started with you, this you can expect |
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And I'll call it neverending when I call you up collect |
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(chorus) |
