Wherefore Art Thou Gene Simmons?

[Produced By Rich Costey] A mother said, "Beware of boys in bands And certainly don't let them write you songs For they will come to you on bended knee and kiss your pretty hands When the singing's done and the sun's up, they'll be gone" While her mother has a point, I might resent the implication That every boy who plays guitar plays women like Gene Simmons 4600 photographs, stuck into a scrapbook beneath your bed 4599 broken hearts, and one more you can't get out of your head And though you swear you can remember every pair of lips you've kissed Deep down you're scared there's one or two you might've missed Oh, Chaim Witz, wherefore art thou? Does your mother know who you are now? Not that I can point a finger, I've been a sinner just the same Fallen hard in love in motels And by sunrise lost their name And I have crept out into cold air in the smallest hours to leave And in the pockets of my jacket I've kept my last infidelities A navy coin and a broken plastic compass that someone gave me That can't find north anymore, just like me Oh, Gene Simmons, wherefore art thou? I could sure use a hand on my shoulder now Cause when fidelity runs low, then there's the moment when you choose In the life of things you love, some you keep, some you lose