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 you'll 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 

It's time to go. 

Thirty-Something episodes, 

Forced amusement at your joes. 

Daisy chains and yogurt stains 

Sneaking under windowpanes. 

You think I'm 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.