69 Love Songs Vol. 3

All songs written by Stephin Merritt.


A pretty girl in her underwear: If there's anything better in this world, who cares? La mort, c'est la mort, mais l'amour, c'est l'amour. La mort, c'est seulement la mort, mais l'amour, c'est l'amour. A pretty boy in his underwear: If there's a better reason to jump for joy, who cares?

It's a Crime

It's a crime to fall in love, heart and mind and soul in love. It's a crime to fall in love, so hard, so hard. I shouldn't have bothered, cause you're just like all the others. Now I know, and I won't do that again. I should have guessed that you'd be just like all the rest, but now I know not to go through that again. I'm still crying all night and all day, but if I show it, someone lock me away cause... My mama said gently, "You can buy her a Bentley, but, my child, she'll only drive it away." I didn't listen, cause my brain was missing, and I only found it today. I was a man, but now I'm only a child. And if it kills me, I am going to smile because... You won't be hearing from me anymore, cause I can't see through my tears anymore. If it takes years to be any more than a jellyfish, I will not tell you this, because...

Busby Berkeley Dreams

I should have forgotten you long ago, but you're in every song I know. Wining and pining is wrong, and so on and so forth, of course, of course, but no, you can't have a divorce. I haven't seen you in ages, but it's not as bleak as it seems. We still dance on whirling stages in my Busby Berkeley dreams. The tears have stained all the pages of my True Romance magazines. We still dance in my outrageously beautiful Busby Berkeley dreams. And now you want to leave me for good. I refuse to believe you could. You forget we're not made of wood. Well, darling you may do your worst, because you'll have to kill me first. Do you think it's dangerous to have Busby Berkeley dreams?

I'm Sorry I Love You

A single rose in your garden dwells. Like any rose it's not itself. It is my love in your garden grows, but let's pretend it's just a rose. Well I'm sorry that I love you. It's a phase I'm going through. There is nothing that I can do, and I'm sorry that I love you. Do not listen to my song. Don't remember it, don't sing along. Let's pretend it's a work of art. Let's pretend it's not my heart. The rose will fade when summer's gone. The song will fade and I'll be gone, because my heart is dying too, and it's all the same to you.

Acoustic Guitar

Acoustic guitar, I'm gonna make you a star, get your picture all over the world. Acoustic guitar, you can have your own car. Just bring me back my girl. She always loved the sound of your strum. You made her think maybe I wasn't so dumb. She tends to faint at the sound of a drum, cause she's folk, so play and maybe she'll come. Acoustic guitar, how lovely you are with your inlays of mother of pearl. Be a good guitar and you can go far. Just bring me back my girl. She always said that you were the one who could make her move her cute little bum. You understand where she's coming from, which I obviously don't, or she wouldn't be gone. Acoustic guitar, if you think I play hard, well, you could have belonged to Steve Earle or Charo or Gwar. I could sell you tomorrow, so bring me back my girl. You'd better bring me back my girl.

The Death of Ferdinand de Saussure

I met Ferdinand de Saussure on a night like this. On love, he said, "I'm not so sure I even know what it is. No understanding, no closure. It is a nemesis. You can't use a bulldozer to study orchids," he said, "so we don't know anything you don't know. Anything, I don't know anything about love. But we are nothing, you are nothing, I am nothing without love." I'm just a great composer and not a violent man, but I lost my composure and I shot Ferdinand, crying, "It's well and kosher to say you don't understand, but this is for Holland-Dozier-Holland!" His last words were... His fading words were...

Love in the Shadows

The woman with no nose, I know where she goes. The old guy with the gold eye, we go back, he and I. Don't smile. We don't do that here, baby. Love in the shadows was never hard to find, but sometimes the moonglow plays tricks on your mind. Love in the shadows is the only kind. The whispers you hear are not sweet nothings. Let's have one more beer and I'll tell you something. Don't laugh. I think you're beautiful.

Bitter Tears

Bitter tears keep me going through the years, freely flowing. What have you done? Only a gun could stop these bitter tears. The endless streets I walk along, you made them seem pretty, but now I dream in country songs and wake in New York City. I cry because it looks so good. I cry, why not, it's free, and there's nothing more interesting than crying constantly.

Wi' Nae Wee Bairn Ye'll Me Beget

Wi' nae wee bairn ye'll me beget. Untwinkle, little ee. My ainly pang'll be regret. A maiden I will dee. But I'll turn into a nightingale. My song will warm thy heart. Well I'll turn into a threshing machine and tear thy bird apart. But I'll turn into a vampire and kiss you on the neck. Well I'll turn into a silver cross and send thee back to Heck. But I'll turn into a hydrogen bomb and atomize the air. Well I'll turn into a cockroach and you'll see if I care. But I'll turn into a supernova and burn up everything. Well I'll turn into a black little hole and you'll turn into string. But I'll turn into God Himself and then you'll come to me. Well I will not believe in you and then where will you be?

Yeah! Oh, Yeah!

Are you out of love with me? Are you longing to be free? Do I drive you up a tree? Yeah! Oh, Yeah! Do I drive you up the wall? Do you dread every phone call? Can you not stand me at all? Yeah! Oh, Yeah! Though I need you more than air, is it true you just don't care? Are you having an affair? Yeah! Oh, Yeah! When we met I thought money was everything, so I let you buy the house, the car, the ring, but I can't take your perpetual whining, and you can't sing. I thought if we lived apart we could make a brand-new start. Do you want to break my heart? Yeah! Oh, Yeah! I've enjoyed making you miserable for years, found peace of mind in playing on your fears. How I loved to catch your gold and silver tears, but now my dear... What a dark and dreary life. Are you reaching for a knife? Could you really kill your wife? Yeah! Oh, Yeah! Oh, I die, I die, I die! So it's over, you and I. Was my whole life just a lie? Yeah! Oh, Yeah!

Experimental Music Love

Experimental music love...


Meaningless? You mean it's all been meaningless? Every whisper and caress? Yes yes yes, it was totally meaningless. Meaningless, like when two fireflies fluoresce. Just like everything I guess it was utterly meaningless. Even less, a little glimpse of nothingness sucking meaning from the rest of this mess. Yes yes yes, it was thoroughly meaningless. And if some dim bulb should say we were in love in some way, kick all his teeth in for me, and if you feel like keeping on kicking, feel free. Meaningless. Who dare to say it wasn't meaningless? Shout from the rooftops and address the press. Ha ha ha, it was totally meaningless. Meaningless. Meaning less than a game of chess. Just like your mother said, and mother knows best. I knew it all the time, but now I confess. Yes yes yes, how deliciously meaningless. Yes yes yes, effervescently meaningless. Yes yes yes, it was beautifully meaningless. Yes yes yes, it was profoundly meaningless. Yes yes yes, definitively meaningless. Yes yes yes, comprehensively meaningless. Yes yes yes, magnificently meaningless. Yes yes yes, how incredibly meaningless. Yes yes yes, unprecedentedly meaningless. Yes yes yes, how mind-blowingly meaningless. Yes yes yes, unbelievably meaningless. Yes yes yes, how infinitely meaningless...

Love is Like a Bottle of Gin

It makes you blind, it does you in. It makes you think you're pretty tough. It makes you prone to crime and sin. It makes you say things off the cuff. It's very small and made of glass and grossly overadvertised. It turns a genius to an ass and makes a fool think he is wise. It could make you regret your birth or turn cartwheels in your best suit. It costs a lot more than it's worth, and yet there is no substitute. They keep it on a higher shelf--the older and more pure it grows. It has no color in itself, but it can make you see rainbows. You can find it on the Bowery, or you can find it at Elaine's. It makes your words more flowery. It makes the sun shine, makes it rain. You just get out what they put in, and they never put in enough. Love is like a bottle of gin, but a bottle of gin is not like love.

Queen of the Savages

My girl is the Queen of the Savages. She don't know the modern world and its ravages. Instead of money she's got yams and cabbages. She lives in a dome. I don't care if I never get home. My girl is the queen of the jungle folk. You should see the things we see when we smoke. We think all of life is a funny joke. She's sharp as a tack I don't care if I never get back. My girl is the queen of ten villages. We live on the fruits of her pillages. She eats other queens, she's very religious. She doesn't use a fork. I don't think I'll go back to New York.

Blue You

The moon was singing the blues. The stars in the sky harmonized, singing it too. And I, far below, was singing low and slow for you, and I know all the world was singing the blues. The Queen was singing the blues. The President played the saxophone, sounded so alone: it was on the news. And from Ursa Minor, in what looked like an all-night diner, came lonely luminous creatures whose only human feature was singing the blues, soft and low. The blues was singing the blues. The dead in their graves and the gods in their caves, they'd been waiting so long to sing the blue song about you.

I Can't Touch You Anymore

You want to know if we fell in love too fast. You want to know if this is, well, too good to last. You're asking the wrong questions. You're opening the wrong doors. I love you. I can't touch you anymore. I can't touch you anymore. There's so much to hate you for. I love you. I can't touch you anymore. You want to tell me 50 ways you've left your lovers. You want to tell me how you loved 200 others.

Two Kinds of People

There are two kinds of people: a) my love and I, b) other. Two kinds of people: 1) the gray and 2) me and my lover. All people fall into two camps that ever twain shall be: those lost in darkness without lamps, and then, my love and me.

How to Say Goodbye

The only thing that I could ever feel, I can't believe it wasn't real. You can't open your mouth without telling a lie, but, baby, you know how to say goodbye. The thing I spent my whole life waiting for has just walked out and locked the door. You can't feel a thing and you won't even try, but, baby, you know how to say goodbye. I'm overjoyed to hear about your wedding. I'm writing you to wish you every blessing. And I'm so happy I could cry. Oh, baby, you know how to say goodbye.

The Night You Can't Remember

Before you left your garrison, you'd had a drink, maybe two. You don't remember Paris, hon, but it remembers you. It's true, we flew to Paris, dear, aboard an Army jet, the night you can't remember, the night I can't forget. You said I was terrific, it meant zilch to you, ah, but I have our marriage certificate, 'n I'll keep it till I die. You were an Army officer, and I just a Rockette, the night you can't remember, the night I can't forget. No rose conveyed your sentiments, not even a petunia, but you've got vague presentiments, and I've got little Junior. You said, "Nobody loves me," and I said, "Wanna bet?" the night you can't remember, the night I can't forget.

For We Are the King of the Boudoir

Should time allow us to describe our prowess, it would be quite hard to overrate, for we are the king of the boudoir, old thing, and the king doesn't like to wait. One tryst with me, and you'll be spinning like a gyroscope. One tryst with me, and you'll be Pope. Should modesty allow us to describe our prowesslessnesslessness, 'twould be quite hard to overstate, for we are the king of the boudoir, it's true, and the king doesn't like to wait. One kiss from me and you'll be overjoyed and overawed. One kiss from me and you'll see God. For we are the king of the boudoir, we are, and the king doesn't like to wait.

Strange Eyes

Strange eyes, blue clocks without hands, two lives lived in distant lands. Little blue mysteries, what did they see in me? Strange eyes, early Picassos, call me even when you don't, if only from pictures, it having been three years. They follow me in all my dreams. Oh God, I'm still in love with you. Strange eyes, two little star charts, plunge knives into my poor heart. As lovely as a tree, they endlessly recede. Strange eyes, two little whirlpools, made by God to destroy fools. Two pearls of inf'nite cost, two paradises lost. They swallow me in all my dreams. Oh God, I'm still in love with you.

Xylophone Track

To my dear, dear mother I leave my only shoes. By the time you read this I will have died of the blues. Scream, little choo-choo. Bang your xylophone track. Keen, stupid choo-choo. Clang your xylophone track. You can wail all night long, but you can't bring her back. I've done so much crying, the flesh has left my bones. I can play my ribcage like a xylophone.


So we got married in Venice in June. So what? We circled the Earth in a hot air balloon. So what? And the rest of our lives is one long honeymoon--well, that doesn't mean we're in love. If you really loved me, you'd buy me a beautiful pearl, but you've already bought me all of the pearls in the world, so there's one thing I crave when my days become ho-hum and blah. I want a zebra. We've got so many tchotchkes we've practically emptied the Louvre. In most of our palaces there's hardly room to manœuvre. I shan't go to Bali today, I must stay home and Hoovre up the gold dust. That doesn't mean we're in love. If you really loved me you'd buy me the Great Pyramid. Oh, I'm so forgetful, you already did. But there's one thing I need if you won't think I'm greedy, my deah, another zebra. Zelda looks lonely, I want a zebra.

Copyright (c) Sep 1999 - Mar 2006 by The Distant Plastic Treehouse