Joe Shmoe & Jane Doe

Just another John Doe; actually, Joe Shmoe According to the tag hanging from his toe Right place at the wrong time, or wrong place right Chalk line on the sidewalk one crime-scene night He's lying beside a looker, name: Jane Doe At least that's what the tag says on her toe The coroners flip coins, but still can't decide If she's a 'silk stalking' or suicide He remembers her from the days of his life Thought that someday she'd be the perfect wife The girl he worked with at the high school lab They went to lunch once, and he paid the tab Indeed she would have made a perfect wife Lying quietly beneath the surgeon's knife The mortician gives perfect tints to her skin Joe is looking sad in the skin he's in Years later in the city, they shared a cab The girl he worked with in chemistry lab His life had been drab, and hers had been fab Again they parted ways, he paid the tab The last time that he saw her was in rehab He hadn't seen her since they shared the cab Life gives us chances, but three strikes, you're out And that's what this poignant song is about Now they each sleep in their own body bag His life was a bitch, her demise a drag And even in death their lives seem to entwine For one last time at the end of the line