Get Lost

All songs written by Stephin Merritt except where noted.


I know you've tried. I know you've cried. I know you've died a little inside--but, Baby, you could be famous. You could see your marble face all around. Baby, you could be famous if you could just get out of this town, just get out of this town now. Baby, you could be famous. You could sell the world a new look and sound. Baby, you could be famous if you could just get out of this town, just get out of this town now. You sold your soul to rock 'n' roll, gave up control, but here's your loophole. You are the queen of every scene. You are the king of everything.

The Desperate Things You Made Me Do

Time provides the rope, but love will tie the slipknot, and I will be the chair you kick away. You don't even like anything you like or the people you know, and all of your reasons to stay alive died. I dedicate this song to you for all the desperate things you made me do. I'd like to beat you black and blue for all the agony you have put me through. Front seat stained with love, a back seat full of Bibles, purloined from the drawers of lost motels. They say when you're older you'll understand--you know it's a lie, 'cause you've got a twisted and mangled heart. Down Route 66, you pilfered love and green stamps. W.C. Fields with Mae West in your eyes. They say every clock's a blunt instrument crushing the skull. But you've got a vice to rest your head in.

Smoke and Mirrors

Someone else's world goes by as my train runs through this night. Someone else's rain comes down but no rain can touch me now. Smoke and mirrors, special effects, a little fear, a little sex. That's all love is behind the tears. Smoke and mirrors. We were foolish, you and I, but there's no reason to cry. We put on a lovely show, but that's all. I had to go. I don't know the stations' names. I'll spend my life on this train. Fumee et miroirs, effets speciaux, un pue de peur, un peu de sexe. Sous les larmes l'amour n'est que sa de la fumee et des miroirs.

With Whom To Dance?

Moons in June. I've given up on that stuff. Arms have charms, but I've no hope of falling in love. The rest of life pales in significance. I'm looking for somebody with whom to dance. With whom to dance? With whom to dance? I'm looking for somebody with whom to dance. Rings and strings. What use have I for these things? Bells and carousels. I'd just be fooling myself. And you, you look like heaven, an angel who stepped from a dream. 777 times lovelier than anything I've ever seen.

You and Me and the Moon

Brian Wilson, 1960, and Vine, summer kisses. In a Pendleton shirt, songs and gentle words, granted wishes. When you look in my eyes, I go soft inside, and the sound of your voice sends shivers up my spine, and at the slightest touch we're in love, you and me and the moon. In a cool gay bar where the people are entertaining, when the sun clocks in we'll still be talking and champagning. Underneath the strobe lights we can dance all night. I'm a little bit shy, you're easy on the eye, and at the slightest touch we're in love, you and me and the moon.

Don't Look Away

Don't look away. I don't think I could stand it. So don't look away. 'Cause my heart couldn't handle it. There's a fire in your eyes and it's melting the ice in my heart. So don't blink an eye. They're so beautiful open. Just let them cry or the spell will be broken. The moments in your gaze have been turning to days in my heart. We've never met and yet we're in love. Never forget one look is enough just as long as you don't look away. We can never be lovers. There's one chance to take; there won't be any others. I'll be spending my life with your eyes like a knife in my heart.

Save a Secret for the Moon

I know all the names of your tears, the numbers of those lonely years. I know all the someone somedays. Don't believe them anyway. When you love someone, you can't always tell the sun. It will be twilight soon--save a secret for the moon. In a darkened room, write it on a black balloon, then watch it fade from view--save a secret for the moon. I can show you sadder poetry than you ever dreamed there could be. I know all the saddest people; most of them are dead now.

Why I Cry

All the summer days where we used to play, walking hand in hand, castles in the sand. So you said goodnight, but you meant goodbye. Now our love has died. This is why I cry. From the madding crowd pointing up at clouds. Summer turned to fall. Pictures on the wall.

Love Is Lighter Than Air

Summer, summer, summer slowly turned into fall. Me and my baby doll never went to the beach. Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere was a place we could run on the sand, with the sun always just out of reach. Somewhere sunny summer's marching to a different drummer, singing, "Summer, summer, summer's gonna turn into fall. You and your baby doll better go to the beach 'cause love is lighter than air. It floats away if you let it go. Love is lighter than air. It rises through the falling snow." A crime, crime, crime, sin and illness is time. Neither reason nor rhyme can obstruct his bad dance. The nasty little swine slipped us mickeys in wine, wove his hair into twine, and then tied our hands. We're forced to watch him wriggle and endure his fulsome giggle and his mime, mime, mime--unforgivable mime. Our one chance is to climb into blimps of romance 'cause...

When You're Old and Lonely

When you're old and lonely you will wish you'd married me. I could build a fire for you and bring you cakes and tea. When you're cold and hungry I'll be waiting by the phone. You can call me up and tell me how you're all alone. When you're old and lonely and the rush of life is past. Days go by too slowly and the years goby too fast. When your golden loneliness is heavier than stone, you can call me up and say, "My God, I'm all alone."

The Village in the Morning

Outside the rain is coming down. Inside it's warm and dry. You'll never find a cab uptown, so why not stay the night? Why don't you call in sick tomorrow? Let's sleep the day away. I've got pajamas you can borrow. Let's take a holiday. You can't leave the village in the morning when the radio writes poetry for avenue pi. You get tangled in the wheels of old queen river, and you can't find the breath to whisper goodbye. Why don't you stay until the weekend? It should clear up by then. As your resolve begins to weaken, we'll become such good friends. And you could stay until the summer, and we can sleep through spring. And I can telephone my drummer and have her get your things. Why don't you stay until we're old and fall in love with life? Why don't you stay until we're ghosts? We'll only seem to die.

All the Umbrellas in London

If I live through the night, I could be all right. It'll make a good song or something. I've been trying to give myself reasons to live, but I really can't think of one thing. I drive around. I walk around in circles. 'Cause I've got no sense of direction; I guess I've got no sense at all. All the umbrellas in London couldn't stop this rain, and all the dope in New York couldn't kill this pain, and all the money in Tokyo couldn't make me stay. All the umbrellas in London couldn't stop this rain. I don't cry anymore. I walk out the door, and I usually keep on walking. I may sit in a bar where the cocktails are, but I really don't feel like talking. I ride around and let the darkness fall, 'cause I've got a sense of perfection and nothing else makes sense at all.

The Dreaming Moon

With an ivory pipe and a cummerbund in the dead of night on the Autobahn, with the long ago on the radio and the dreaming moon... We were young and in love in a burning town, but the fire went out. I'm alone again now, and I finally know how cool to be cold with the dreaming moon. I'll begin again with another new name and a whole new life full of fortune and fame, but in the 100th year I'll be right back here with the dreaming moon.

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