| I leaned the truth at seventeen |
| That love was meant for beauty queens |
| And high school girls with clear-skinned smiles |
| Who married young and then retired |
| The valentines I never knew |
| The Friday night charades of youth |
| Were spent on one more beautiful |
| At seventeen I learned the truth |
| And those of us with ravaged faces |
| Lacking in the social graces |
| Desperately remained at home |
| Inventing lovers on the phone |
| Who called to say, «Come dance with me» |
| And murmured vague obscenities |
| It isn’t all it seems at seventeen |
| A brown-eyed girl in hand-me-downs |
| Whose name I never could pronounce |
| Said, «Pity, please, the ones who serve |
| 'Cause they only get what they deserve» |
| And the rich relationed hometown queen |
| Marries into what she needs |
| With a guarantee of company |
| And haven for the elderly |
| So remember those who win the game |
| Lose the love they sought to gain |
| In debentures of quality and dubious integrity |
| Their small town eyes will gape at you |
| In dull surprise when payment due |
| Exceeds accounts received at seventeen |
| To those of us who knew the pain |
| Of valentines that never came |
| And those whose names were never called |
| When choosing sides for basketball |
| It was long ago and far away |
| The world was younger than today |
| When dreams were all they gave for free |
| To ugly duckling girls like me |
| We all play the game and when we dare |
| To cheat ourselves at solitaire |
| Inventing lovers on the phone |
| Repenting other lives unknown |
| They call and say, «Come on, dance with me» |
| And murmur vague obscenities |
| At ugly girls like me at seventeen |