Well I'm pining here in Balladtown
And I'm writing all my torn feelings down
See the tortured artist in me rhyme
What is the norm?
Three quarter time.

Well the ladies, they are slamming their doors
Hear me singing, and their ears get sore
And they often tell me where to go
Very hot place
Place full of woe
But I’d rather writhe in Balladtown

But my sad finesse won’t get me down
And I’m trying not to write cliché-éééééééééééééééééés

Well it’s lonely here in Balladtown
Though the music takes me off the rebound
And the Air Supply the DJ plays
I hum along
Yes, I’m ashamed.

My infatuations hang like a pall
And I write about them, yes one and all
Hear my voice it's oozing how I feel
People will ask
“What is your deal?”
As I'm singing here in Balladtown.

And those people tend to run from the sound
As my crooning vocals flaunt dismaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay

Every song has the time honored plot
The lonely longing for the love that is not
I’m looking for some different songs to embrace
I have desires to move out of this place, oh oh oh

I’ve misgivings here in Balladtown
It’s not hard to keep a sad man down
But I will be writing more todaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyy

(REALLY DEPRESSING GUITAR SOLO)

And I’m hoping this will pay one daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.
Then I’m leaving this old Balladtown.