tuesday night, sitting alone at home
no one to meet, nowhere to go
no words to write, thriving to be thrown a bone
and then it comes, a buzz on my phone

familiar voice comes out of the machine
“what are you doing?”, “wanna meet?”
sent from the heavens by an unholy god
that for once doesn’t take, but gives

“come to my place and let’s hang out”
a sweet command that she delivers with charm
my body follows and my mind doesn’t mind
as it did yesterday and will do for a while

she welcomes me with some wine and pot
“bring your records, set the gramophone”
the perfect host for a night of delight
so was yesterday and will be for a while

the finest woman that I’ve ever met
the finest woman that I’ve ever met
the finest woman that I’ve ever met
stands next to me, in the good and the bad
the finest woman that I’ve ever met
the finest woman that I’ve ever met
the finest woman that I’ve ever met
respects the art that I craft with my hands

we spend the night sitting around in her room
the shadows in the ceiling kaleidoscopically move
sweet hallucination setting up the mood
for a talk about Dylan and some journalist scum

“it’s getting late, we should call it a day”, she says
“you don’t have to leave, you can stay”
but tomorrow morning I have somewhere to be
stay here sleeping, you can wait for me

the finest woman that I’ve ever met
the finest woman that I’ve ever met
the finest woman that I’ve ever met
stands next to me, in the good and the bad
the finest woman that I’ve ever met
the finest woman that I’ve ever met
the finest woman that I’ve ever met
respects the art that I craft with my hands