I've got Elaine on the brain Shooting through my weather vain, but I can't reach her. I'm so sick over Elaine Cold and flu drops down the drain, and graying scrapyards (like metal) Driving by the wheat silos and red barns I can't yell enough, it's raking. Downtown in a blue phone booth Elaine is running out tonight and shaking (I'm quaking) She's all gold and the ocean breaks cold and I'm a wreck You keep throwing down your wrenches.