Mrs. Jones sits by the window still
She sits there, keeping very still,
Motions and emotions go fleeting through her eyes
But nothing shows on her face,
The image is dry
Static wasting time on a t.v. screen
She smiles, trying to keep your attention in between
The face you see, the girl you know,
And the illusion you're building up all on your own
What can you say about Mrs. Jones?
Simple hair, simple face, a soft and subtle grace?
What comes through the scorpions tongue?
What stories, what emotions, what fantasies does she dig up in your mind?
What twisted slosh of words do you use to describe her,
Sitting by the window sill, always very still
Lounging on couches, smoking cigarettes like a pro
She's the woman you'll never know,
And maybe its better that way
Maybe this simple image is better than anything you can say
Combined with a couple quiet nights in the dark,
We're seeing sparks!
Everyone's eager to meet the illusive mrs. Jones
The woman that might be easing up your pain
The woman who helps your heart stay thawed out
Or do you draw her picture differently?
Does she mean more to you?
Does she mean less?
I bet Mrs. Jones doesn't stress
She probably doesn't scream, is never mean, and only wants your happiness
You can see it in her eyes
When they're open wide and seeing the world as it really is
Alive with needy people, disatisfaction, and sin
Mrs. Jones sees it all begin
She's there at birth, at life, at death,
But next to the window sill she rests
With a silent phone, and no place to go
Why don't you give her a call?
Who knows what happens next?
She sits there, keeping very still,
Motions and emotions go fleeting through her eyes
But nothing shows on her face,
The image is dry
Static wasting time on a t.v. screen
She smiles, trying to keep your attention in between
The face you see, the girl you know,
And the illusion you're building up all on your own
What can you say about Mrs. Jones?
Simple hair, simple face, a soft and subtle grace?
What comes through the scorpions tongue?
What stories, what emotions, what fantasies does she dig up in your mind?
What twisted slosh of words do you use to describe her,
Sitting by the window sill, always very still
Lounging on couches, smoking cigarettes like a pro
She's the woman you'll never know,
And maybe its better that way
Maybe this simple image is better than anything you can say
Combined with a couple quiet nights in the dark,
We're seeing sparks!
Everyone's eager to meet the illusive mrs. Jones
The woman that might be easing up your pain
The woman who helps your heart stay thawed out
Or do you draw her picture differently?
Does she mean more to you?
Does she mean less?
I bet Mrs. Jones doesn't stress
She probably doesn't scream, is never mean, and only wants your happiness
You can see it in her eyes
When they're open wide and seeing the world as it really is
Alive with needy people, disatisfaction, and sin
Mrs. Jones sees it all begin
She's there at birth, at life, at death,
But next to the window sill she rests
With a silent phone, and no place to go
Why don't you give her a call?
Who knows what happens next?
