A queue that wore the mark of her thumbnail
Has been pulled down from the wall
Daring the billiard ball to bait its own narrow trap

The young one finds the doorman quite good looking
He considers me a fag, because
He's the judge of "all that"
He and maybe a dozen bros
That have been unloved by their dads

The young one goes to gather all her catcalls
I'll play dead through every song
That ever tried to write those wrongs
That will start a talk we don't wanna have

I see the mark from that little thumbnail
Now she's done with me
Just look at what she's done to me
Out of sight, without a mind
Like a mess in a room you don't see
Layin' in the queue, just out of view