My Plastic You

How could I be so scared
Feeling like I did?
With my feet touching your feet under your sheets
I was feeling like a prince
But you live on the mainland, and I'm stuck on an island
And the distance makes me sick
That's why I dream of being able to touch you
Baby. this relationship
Is held together by weekends weeks apart
And it's getting really bad
My teeth smile so seldom that it's tempting to grind them
And Long Island makes me mad

It must be something that you do

‘cus baby I am gripping the telephone
I am holding my plastic you
As tight as I can
I am gripping the telephone
I am holding my plastic you
I won't let go

I hold this telephone
Feeling like a kid
It's like a microphone
Try whispering secrets into it
And I am tied to the phone chord
'cus you are on the other end
This is my millionth phone card
If I kiss you just pretend that you tasted me

It must be something that you do

I'm in your mailbox
I got a little lonely at home
So open your mailbox