There's a little red man who lives down your street and he only wants to draw cartoons
And he's published some things and he's won some awards and you think he's got it in for you
His art pulls faces, his art cracks jokes, a ukulele in an airport lounge
And you feel so jealous, you feel so ashamed, that you think you want to take him down
But every time you see him you get so nervous, you quiver like a violin string
And his smile's so easy, and his eyes so aware that you can never tell him anything
You're afraid he knows some love that you'll never be naive or secure enough to believe in
Afraid he knows some love that you'll never be brave or foolish enough to believe in
There's a little red woman who lives down the street who thinks she knows a thing or two
And it's so unnerving to face such confidence, it tangles something up in you
She gives a series of lectures on everything you love and everything you believed you knew
She's got a profile pending in both local papers, got a publishing contract, too
And your need to impress her becomes so oppressive that you've alienated all your friends
And they're so embarrassed, and you're so ashamed, that you never want to see her again
And you envision yourself on a far-flung island where your vanity is safe from attack
But you can never imagine your dreams will be free of the knowledge of the knowledge you lack
'Cause you're afraid she knows some love that you'll never be naive or secure enough to believe in
Afraid she knows some love that you'll never be brave or foolish enough to believe in