A sad poet with an historical stash Three thrift store novelettes, very white trash His conscience is losing consciousness And she lets fall the fabled stocking He thinks he's making love, but he's just talking And she doesn't know what all she's after Wish she could send her troubles to Madagascar Sunday dinners with a Christian scientist God and pretty women listed on his hit list Grinding out conversations at the gin mills Feels like the hero of a B-movie thrill And she lets fall the fabled stocking He thinks he's making love, but he's just talking And she doesn't know what all she's after Wish she could send her troubles to Madagascar In the middle of his middle-aged crazy The tears come down from Capricorn to Pisces Woman, listen to your confessions Your pain is now a national obsession Dropping casualties like flies This generation sensually paralyzed In the bathroom someone's lit A clove cigarette A poker-faced boy turns so hard to forget Worldwide whitewashed, his mouth is dry as death And his conscience is losing consciousness And she lets fall the fabled stocking He thinks he's making love, but he's just talking And she doesn't know what all she's after Wish she could send her troubles to Madagascar