One late night evening / I was just bored to tears,
So I fashioned a woman / So lovely in all her years.
But there was a problem / She was made of stone,
And I was left, crying and alone.
We went to a party / And all of the people stared.
They asked my sweet lady, / “Oh, how do you comb your hair?”
And then they told me / That she felt like a bone.
And I was left ~ crying and alone.
I wanted so badly / Just to kiss her lips,
To tell her I loved her / Put pressure on her hips.
The gods then took mercy / And they brought her to life.
They said, “Pygmalion, be gentle on your wife.”
And I was gentle Because the love I made was now alive and well,
And the life of Galatea had saved my soul from Hell, now that I loved her. – – – –
It’s time to go on now / And give the gods a rest.
They went out of their way to / Give a poor man the best.
And now I tell you / She is not a stone.
I am happy, and, no longer all alone.
Happy and no longer all alone.