Album: other songs

Baby

Her shaved head and her pierced nose,
Her big rottweilers and her tie-dyed clothes,
Her Doctor Martins with her biker tights,
Her long black leggings on a hot summer night…

And nobody calls her “baby,”
And nobody says, “I love you so.”
And nobody calls her “baby;”
Oh, I guess she'll never know.

His working boots and flannel shirts,
His sympathies buried as deep as his hurts.
Long, lonely walks with nowhere to go;
His only appointment's with a TV show…

And nobody calls him “baby,”
And nobody says, “I love you so.”
And nobody calls him “baby;”
Oh, I guess he'll never know.

Eighty pounds, she's hardly whole;
She's losin' her body to gain some control.
Hours alone in some tanning salon,
And trying a smaller and smaller size on…

And nobody calls her “baby,”
And nobody says, “I love you so.”
And nobody calls her “baby;”
Oh, I guess she'll never know.

His pin-striped suit and his wing-tipped shoes,
His laptop computer and his Wall Street News.
He makes his plane, he keeps his pace;
He hides his pain behind a poker face…

And nobody calls him “baby,”
And nobody says, “I love you so.”
And nobody calls him “baby;”
Oh, I guess he'll never know.

But Somebody loves those babies,
And Somebody loves what we can't see,
And if somebody told them, maybe
Those babies would be free…

Yes, Somebody loves those babies,
And Somebody loves what we can't see,
And if somebody told them, maybe
Those babies would be free;
Those babies would be free…