Well, the crooner never gets his fill
He can barely stand but still
He fumbles for another five dollar bill
He's got the eyes of a drunken sailor
And Elise sinks into the corner she abhors
Hiding behind her cigarette trying to ignore
All the propositions that fall at her feet
And the dreams that drift out to sea
Now in a pocket under a pile in her room
There's a note that reads, "I love you, baby, I'll be home soon"
That was the very last rung
Before she gave up on the climb
'Cause her crooner has got his own agenda
With his booze and his beautiful pretenders
Who hang out at the all night bars
And drinks to there little sports cars
That they bought with the cash
That they got from god's last will and testament
Elise says, "That's not what he meant"
Elise says, "That's not what he meant"