I've got Elaine on the brain

Shooting through my weather vain,

but I can't reach her.

I'm so sick over Elaine

Cold and flu drops down the drain,

and graying scrapyards (like metal)



Driving by the wheat silos and red barns

I can't yell enough, it's raking.

Downtown in a blue phone booth

Elaine is running out tonight

and shaking (I'm quaking)



She's all gold

and the ocean breaks cold

and I'm a wreck

You keep throwing down your wrenches.