Put your tears back into your eyes

Adjust your hair

I am in no mood for theatrics

Or fake despair

It almost makes me hunger

For symbols, signs, and semaphore.

Subtle shades of metaphor too ingenious to ignore.

Instead of that you sit there and cry,

You moan, you lie.

You crumple like an old piece of tinfoil

You claim youll die.

What the hell possessed me to ever catch a date with you?

I should have known that it was wrong

To trust the judgment of my schlong.

Put your tears back (your tears back), yeah.

I hate the way you drool when you talk

I hate your clothes.

Moses knows his roses and I know

Its time to go.

Thirty-Something episodes,

Forced amusement at your joes.

Daisy chains and yogurt stains

Sneaking under windowpanes.

You think Im not aware of your script

So well rehearsed

The close-up camera follows your lipstick

Back in your purse.

If you were better at it

Then maybe we could still be friends,

Write and talk and keep in touch

As it is I hate your guts!

Put your tears back (your tears back) yeah.