peter tries to focus on the screen
he’s having trouble typing since he met the new girl
“hi i’m irene”
left him feeling suddenly alone
he’s dizzy from her perfume as he stammers on the phone
“dear… yes… i’m… coming home”

driving home alone and he pretends to court her
first he missed his exit now he’s crossed the border

the want, the need, he desperately craves
she’s the queen of hearts, he gives his away

he’s doing what he thought he’d never do
a week from now he’ll blame it on the asian flu
or a mild case of crazy
takes her by the copying machine
he lays his heart upon the glass, she nods like its routine
he’s proposing tea for two

even though she’s homely peter sees a palace
in a skintight dress she still conceals her malice
a golden chalice for

the want, the need, the fire in his loins
she’s the queen of clubs and he’s dying to join

up all night with her mortar and pestle
she measured twice in her crystal vessel
by friday they’ll undress and wrestle

a motel 6 he trembles by the bed
he reaches for the light switch, but she shakes her head
“i like to see what i’m feeling”

mister texaco is drilling like there’s no tomorrow
he never sees the camera or her look of sorrow

the want, the need, his wife sees on the tape
she’s the queen of diamonds and everyone pays

to see the ending wonders who began it
next time you see her and her name is janet
she gets her man

it’s the want, it’s the need, it’s the bed that he’s made
she’s the queen of spades but he dug his own grave