I used to go to the MoMA and that big museum down the street
To touch rocks that were carved into women a thousand years ago
They had no arms and their breasts had eroded
But their faces had that same superior look
As my calendar girl
You're the most beautiful thing these hands have ever touched
You're prettier than the girl on the corn chip bags
If all I've got to hang on to is your memory
I'll cling to your kiss
Marking crosses on past days
My calendar girl
I wish I was alone with you again
With your nude photo albums and that x-ray of your father's smile
If only to hear another one of your stories
You don't tell just anybody
A man who would share your secrets in song
Ain't a man I'd like to meet
Maybe all I've got of you is a memory
But you still lean between me and the wall
My calendar girl