Close the window, bar the door, 
the Moon Come 'Round again. 
No more the bane of all existence. 
I'm now more like a long-lost friend. 
I must admit to some anticipation. 
You don't know how long it's been. 
So close the window, bar the door. 
the Moon Come 'Round again. 

Sometimes a crescent wrench can't save me. 
Or chasing down bumps in the night 
I once was cute and brave and smart 
Now I can't do anything right. 
What kind of system sets things up 
with the scales of desire so skewed? 
Between testosterone and estrogen, 
testosterone is screwed... or not. 

Close the window... 

Oysters are out, she's vegetarian. 
Forget Viagra, it doesn't last.. 
I've thought of slipping her some steroids, 
but then she'd prob'ly whip my ass. 
It seems the only aphrodisiac 
that ever really can deliver 
is when the big ole full moon shines down 
on that great hormonal river. 
Ah, yes... 

Close the window... 

Now, whether there's a powerful magician 
living up beyond the sky, 
or whether it's Darwin helps us understand 
why we try and try and try... 
Makes no never mind at all. 
You see, I'll tell you why. 
Long as that great Diana dances on. 
Long as that moon keeps on to fly. 

You know, if there'd been a new moon in the garden, 
that serpent wouldn't have had a prayer. 
There's no way in hell an apple 
would have gotten him anywhere. 
You see, there's no magic potion, or strong elixir 
with power so profound, 
as when that certain time of that loony, 
lunar cycle comes around. 
Here we go... 

Close the window...