Not A Girl In Boston

I’ve been searching for a month and haven’t found a one,
I went asking all the guards and the rays of the sun.
They spoke not a word, but just lit their cigarette,
And looked at me like I had forgotten the alphabet.
I haven’t asked them since and I’d rather not cross them,
But I think I’ve learned myself there’s not a girl in Boston.

I’ve ran around at the aquarium, looking through the fish,
And I’ve been at the fountain with no change for a wish.
I’ve waltzed across a brick path with my nose in the air,
And wherever I go, there’s no time to take a chair.
I’m twisting in the wind, I feel like I’m missing an arm,
I don’t know where they all went, I swear I mean no harm.

I’ve taken a few shortcuts through the alleys and the malls,
I’ve stolen a few rolls of paper from their bathroom stalls.
All to get a glimpse of some girl, who only needs to smile,
So I can pitch a tent, feel content, and breathe for a while.
But I’ve used up all my luck, and I’ve got to have my fix,
I’ve been sleeping on a boulder and a mat made out of sticks.

I’ve felt a little wobbly and I’ve smoked a lot of weed,
And went chasing little rabbits right down into the reeds.
Feeling lucky, I’ve circled the common hoping for a face
With eyes that could see through me and stay off of my case.
And I found one, she was something, looking cold and alone,
I didn’t even realize she was a picture on my phone.

I called my best friend who was having sex up in Duluth,
And described my new surroundings and asked what I should do.
He cleared his throat, grabbed his hat, and strolled on outside,
Then struck a match on the moon, letting out a tired sigh.
“Well, once you meet them, you’ll blink and then you’ve lost them,
So count yourself lucky that there’s not a girl in Boston.”