I've got Elaine on the brain Shooting through my weather vain, But I can't reach her. I'm so sick over Elaine Cold and flu drops down the drain, And graying scrapyards (like metal) Driving by the wheat silos and red barns I can't yell enough, it's raking. Downtown in a blue phone booth Elaine is running out tonight And shaking (I'm quaking) She's all gold And the ocean breaks cold And I'm a wreck You keep throwing down your wrenches.