My face is finished, my body's gone. And I can't help but think standin' up here in all this applause and gazin' down at all the young and the beautiful. With their questioning eyes. That I must above all things love myself. I saw a girl in the crowd, I ran over I shouted out, I asked if I could take her out, But she said that she didn't want to. I changed the sheets on my bed, I combed the hairs across my head, I sucked in my gut and still she said That she just didn't want to. I read her Eliot, read her Yeats, I tried my best to stay up late, I fixed the hinges on her gate, But still she just never wanted to. I bought her a dozen snow-white doves, I did her dishes in rubber gloves, I called her Honeybee, I called her Love, But she just still didn't want to. She just never wants to. I sent her every type of flower, I played her guitar by the hour, I patted her revolting little chihuahua, But still she just didn't want to. I wrote a song with a hundred lines, I picked a bunch of dandelions, I walked her through the trembling pines, But she just even then didn't want to. She just never wants to. I thought I'd try another tack, I drank a litre of cognac, I threw her down upon her back, But she just laughed and said that she just didn't want to. I thought I'd have another go, I called her mah little O, I felt like Marcel Marceau must feel when she said that she just never wanted to. She just didn't want to. I got the no pussy blues.