He tries and tries and tries to make her love him
He’d break his neck without a second thought
He tells himself she’s thinking fondly of him
Even though he knows she’s probably not
He labors sadly unappreciated
In some kind of codependent blur
But until the masochist in him is sated
He’d prefer to get his punishment from her
Don’t get him wrong. He’s not trying to be a pity-hog
He’s just so happy when he’s down
He would be her stooge; he’d gladly be her dog
If she would only throw his heart around
He’s spent almost half of his life in therapy
Even his shrink is getting bored
But even though he asks himself “what’s wrong with me?”
He knows he loves to be ignored
Don’t get him wrong. He’s not trying to be a pity-hog
He’s just so happy when he’s down
He would be her stooge; he’d gladly be her dog
If she would only throw his heart around
He’d profess his love from the top of the highest hill
He’d write her name up in the sky
He’d recite “what light?” beneath her windowsill
Anything to try to catch her eye
Don’t get him wrong. He’s not trying to be a pity-hog
He’s just so happy when he’s down
He would be her stooge; he’d gladly be her dog
If she would only throw his heart around
He spreads the word himself all over town
He’s at his happiest when he’s down
