Baby

Her shaved head and her pierced nose,
 Her big rotweillers and her tie-dyed clothes,
 Her Dr. Martins with her biker tights,
 Her long black leggings on a hot summer night
 And nobody calls her baby,
 Nobody says "I love you so,"
 Nobody calls her baby,
 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,
 Nobody says "I love you so,"
 Nobody calls him baby,
 I guess he'll never know
 Eighty pounds, she's hardly whole,
 Losing her body to gain some control,
 Hours alone in some tanning salon,
 Trying a smaller and smaller size on
 And nobody calls her baby,
 Nobody says "I love you so,"
 Nobody calls her baby,
 I guess she'll never know
 His Pin-striped suits and wing-tipped shoes,
 His lap-top computer and his Wall Street news,
 He makes his plane and keeps his pace,
 He hides his pain behind a poker face
 And nobody calls him baby,
 Nobody says, "I love you so,"
 Nobody calls him baby,
 I guess he'll never know
 But somebody loves those babies,
 Somebody loves what we can't see,
 And if somebody told them maybe,
 Those babies would be free
 Those babies would be free