Cupid, there's some ice on your nose,
On your arrows and bows.
Freeze-dried in a can full of bait,
And you never shoot straight.
You aimed for the stars and shot me in the face,
Well that's damn cold.
The angels all melt into snow that is ugly, brown and old.

Now you chill with Bacchus all day,
I swear he is gay.
Making snow angels until dawn,
You passed out on his lawn.
Shot a few in the sky when I was flying high
And something popped;
I ran myself right into the ground and finally stopped.

Oh the things I'd do...
Thirty years, playing three chords,
And the burden is yours.
My debt is paid!
But I need to get laid!

Sober up now, it's time to go
And get out of the snow.
I could punch you, maybe I should
But I won't if you would buy me breakfast.

Cupid Shot Me in the Face

Yanni's Hair