shaved head and her pierced nose,
big rotweillers and her tie-dyed clothes,
Dr. Martins with her biker tights,
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 a 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.

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.


Lyrics submitted by BrokenPuppet

Baby song meanings
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