Elope with me Miss Private and we’ll sail around the world
I will be your Ferdinand and you my wayward girl
How many nights of talking in hotel rooms can you take?
How many nights of limping round on pagan holidays?
Oh elope with me in private and we’ll set something ablaze
trail for the devil to erase

San Francisco’s calling us, the Giants and Mets will play
Piazza, New York catcher, are you straight or are you [bad word] 
We hung about the stadium, we’ve got no place to stay
We hung about the tenderloin and tenderly you tell
About the saddest ending of a book you ever had to read
The statue’s crying too and well he may

I love you I’ve a drowning grip on your adoring face
I love you my responsibility has found a place
Beside you and strong warnings in the guise of gentle [bad word] wave upon me from the wider family net absurd
“You’ll take care of her, I know it, you will do a better job”
Maybe, but not what she deserves

Elope with me Miss Private and we’ll drink ourselves awake
We’ll taste the coffee houses and award certificates
privy seal to keep the feel of 1960 style [bad word] on the decor and we’ll help the passer by
And at dusk when work is over we’ll continue the debate
In a borrowed bedroom virginal and spare

The catcher hits for .318 and catches every day
The pitcher puts religion first and rests on holidays
He goes into cathedrals and lies prostrate on the floor
He knows the drink affects his speed he’s praying for
a doorway
Back into the life he wants and the confession of the bench
Life outside the diamond is a wrench

I wish that you were here with me to pass the dull weekend
I know it [bad word] to love, my heroine pretend
lady stepping from the songs we love until this day
You’d settle for an epitaph like “Walk Away, Renee”
The sun upon the roof in winter will draw you out like
a flower
Meet you at the statue in an hour
Meet you at the statue in an hour