I'm Lonely (And I Love It) EP

All songs written by Stephin Merritt.

I'm Lonely (And I Love It)

I'm lonely and I love it. Woe is me, but I'm above it. It's the strangest thing, I'm sad and I don't care. And I'm dancing on air. I miss you and I like it. Show me a mountain and I'll hike it. It's a whole new feeling, never felt before. Get me to the dance floor. I'm as lonely as an eagle and I'm crazy as a loon. Who would ever think I could get over you so soon? I should be singing the blues, but I just want to croon. Winter is still with us, but I'm dancing like it's June. Because I'm lonely and I love it. It's been rough, but I'll rough it. If that's how it feels to get your heart broken, break my heart again. I'm as lonely as Narcissus gazing in his mirrored pond, wearing all the clothes you hate and going back to blond, staying up all hours in my deedy demimonde. If you have something to tell me, please don't correspond, because I'm lonely. I'm lonely and I love it. If only I'd dreamed of it, I'd have broken up with you so long ago. You wouldn't even know. I'm as lonely as an emperor upon a golden throne, going off my diet with a double chocolate cone, shouting from the rooftops and through every telephone. All the time I've been with you, I wish I'd been alone. Because I'm lonely as Mount Everest and probably as high. It's time to buy all the records you would never let me buy. It's time to try the million things you never let me try. I can almost laugh at all the times you made me cry, because I'm lonely and I love it.

My Blue Hawaii

I admit I just can't say no to the land of the volcano: pineapples, guavas, mangos, Martin Denny playing tangos. Every little island teaches the wisdom of its unique beaches. You can find your own messiah in the pit of a papaya. My blue Hawaii, palms waving in the breeze. My blue Hawaii calls to me. How I want to be with you now, dancing at an all-night luau, cause I'm just a dancing foola when I do the hula-hula. I just want to take you away when I hear "Aloha Oe." Picture us in cocktail glass shirts, flower leis, cameras, and grass skirts.

Cafe Hong Kong

Dear Joe, I had to use your handkerchief as a tourniquet. It's bloodstained now and torn. Dearly hope this letter finds you well, baby. When the war is over, when we all come home, I will wait for you, dear, at the Cafe Hong Kong. Dear Joe, a grenade got me, so I'm blind. Least I'll think of you always as young-looking. Dearly hope this letter finds you well, baby. When the war is over (I pray it won't be long), I will wait for you, dear, at the Cafe Hong Kong. Dear Joe, some complications, and I'm dying. Always think of me as young. Here's your handkerchief. Dearly hope this letter finds you well, baby. When the war is over, when we all come home, wait for me, my lover, at the Cafe Hong Kong. For me the war is over, and life was just a song. Wait for me forever at the Cafe Hong Kong.

Good Thing I Don't Have Any Feelings

You took your eyes away, and your amazing hair. You took the sky away and all the breathable air. And you left an empty room, a useless bed, and a suicidal moon. It's a good thing I don't have any feelings, a damn good thing that I can't feel a damn thing anymore. You took your love away, all that amazing love. You took the memory of whatever love was, and you said, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you."


You've been tearing out your hair, and I've been drinking, listening to music in the dark. And I've been keeping to myself and you've been slinking all around the trailer park. There's no use even trying, because it's hopeless. All of our dreams are dying of overdoses. All of our plans are lying in ten-car road wrecks. There's just no point in crying. You know it's hopeless. You look at strangers like a kid in a candy store. I've been leaving on every train. And you don't keep a diary anymore. And I come home feeling no pain. Don't let me rain on your parade. Don't get your hair gray. It's just another wasted year. Nothing you can't forget in hours at the raceway. Nothing that can't be drown in beer.

Copyright (c) Sep 2002 by The Distant Plastic Treehouse