The dark air is heated
With the shallow exhales between kisses
That occured on such a volume tonight
That it's hot in your room.

It's hot on the summer-night
Suburban streets
With the fruitful, lush trees
And all the open first story windows

Cause her mom and dad sleep upstairs
No one will hear them
If they both avoid the floorboards that squeak.

And it's the same story
In all the girls' bedrooms
In every house along the quaint culdesac

And the boys rooms,
The unlucky boys,
Are left almost empty
And you sit there, in yours, alone

While your Playboy goddess whispers in your ear
In the voice you made up in your head
For her, but that voice was mine first
It's still mine

And I can whisper at least as well.

But my window's wide open
And it doesn't occur to you that inside it I might be alone
Enveloped in arms I imagine are yours
But it's just the hot
Summer night air.