All songs written by Stephin Merritt.
All I Want To Know
All I want to know is do you still want me? And, if not so, why do you still haunt me like a song, like a ghost, all night long? That's almost all I want to know. All I want to know is can I still need you? Are we still go, or did I misread you? I won't settle for less, and that's not yet, I'll confess, all I want to know. I want to know now, on your mother's grave, is there nothing, nohow, left to save? Be brave. Tell me tonight, or not at all, we don't have to fight, I can make last call, and play a little pinball. All I want to know is, you don't, do you? Call me slow, but I can't see through you. Count to ten, tell me then, will you love me again is all I want to know.
As You Turn To Go
Let the camera linger on your perfect skin, your widow's peak, and your lucky grin -- and the bluest eyes I know -- as you turn to go. Let there be a record of your gorgeous voice, the turn of phrase that filled my days with joy -- something like Bing singing soft and low -- as you turn to go. I know I'm not supposed to say I'm sorry, I know you've had more loves than Mata Hari, but you know you're the star of my life story, and I'm so sorry. Let the poets struggle to describe your heart, your art of love and your love of art. Well, if you ever loved me, tell me so as you turn to go...
He put his fist through the window and his foot through the door, cause she don't believe in his dreams anymore. No, she don't believe in his dreams anymore, and what's more, she's probably right. So he drives through the night with his foot to the floor, cause she don't believe in his dreams anymore. Better hopelessly single than hopelessly poor, and she don't believe in his dreams anymore. No, she don't believe in his dreams anymore, and what for? They just drag you down. If she's stuck in this town she can work in the store, but she won't believe in his dreams anymore.
Epitaph for My Heart
"Caution: To prevent electric shock, do not remove cover. No user-serviceable parts inside. Refer servicing to qualified service personnel." Let this be the epitaph for my heart. Cupid put too much poison in the dart. This is the epitaph for my heart because it's gone, gone, gone; and life goes on and on and on; and death goes on. World without end, and you're not my friend. Who will mourn the passing of my heart? Will its little droppings climb the pop chart? Who'll take its ashes and, singing, fling them from the top of the Brill Building? And life goes on, and dawn, and dawn; and death goes on. World without end, and you're not my friend.
Heather Heather, we belong together like sex and violence; like death and silence. Heather Heather, we're birds of a feather: we have a duty to youth and beauty. And in your blood runs some of mine, and in your eyes I am divine. And in your head flows too much wine, my famous wine. Heather Heather, we're like the weather: all mist and air, but always there. Heather Heather, put on some leather, and let's go dancing twixt lasers glancing.
I Think I Need a New Heart
Time stands still. All I can feel is time standing still as you put down the keys and say "Don't call me, please" while the radio plays "I Think I Need a New Heart." You've lied too, but it's a sin that I can't tell the truth, cause it all comes out wrong unless I put it in a song, so the radio plays "I Think I Need a New Heart" just for you. "I Think I Need a New Heart." Cause I always say "I love you" when I mean "Turn out the light," and I say "Let's run away" when I just mean "Stay the night," but the words you want to hear, you will never hear from me. I'll never say "Happy anniversary," never stay to say happy anniversary, so I think I need a new heart. Give me time.
One April Day
One April day, we'll go miles away and I'll turn to you and I'll say: I've always loved you in my way. I'll always love you in my way.
Stray with Me
When I wake in the morning with sleep in my eyes, stray with me. When I come home in the morning and I'm too drunk for lies, stray with me. When morning comes and I'm on tour, and no one knows where I am for sure, and you know I get lonely, stray with me. When I'm boring and ugly, and I love you too much, stray with me. When I can't stand your distance, and I can't stand your touch, stray with me. Through wedding cakes and kids and wakes, through what and whom and how long it takes, if only in my memory, stray with me.
The Luckiest Guy on the Lower East Side
Andy would bicycle across town in the rain to bring you candy, and John would buy the gown for you to wear to the prom with Tom the astronomer who'd name a star for you, but I'm the luckiest guy on the Lower East Side, cause I've got wheels and you want to go for a ride. Harry is the one I think you'll marry, but it's Chris that you kissed after school. I'm a fool, there's no doubt, but when the sun comes out, and only when the sun comes out... The day is beautiful and so are you. My car is ugly, but then I'm ugly too. I know you'd never give me a second glance, but when the weather's nice, all the other guys don't stand a chance. I know Professor Blumen makes you feel like a woman, but when the wind is in your hair you laugh like a little girl. So you share secrets with Lou, but we've got secrets too--well, one: I only keep this heap for you, cause I'm the ugliest guy on the Lower East Side, but I've got wheels and you want to go for a ride. Want to go for a ride?
You You You You You
Even though I met you only recently, I find myself falling in love with you. I don't know quite how to put this decently, but what's the chance that you could love me too? Who, who, who, who, who has made my dreams come true and turned my gray skies blue? Why it's you you you you you you. Woo, woo, woo, woo, woo like amorous lovebirds do. Who made my world seem new? 'Tis, 'tis you you you you you. You make me feel like I'm seventeen again. You make everything beautiful seem true. I can't wait to go to sleep and dream again, cause every dream I dream's a dream dreamy little you. You make the world go round, the sun go up and down, the flowers bloom in May, the children laugh and play. Shall we choose the day?
Copyright (c) Jan 2004 - Mar 2006 by The Distant Plastic Treehouse