Baby, don't you drive around with Dr. Bernice
She's not a lady doctor at all.
She's got hands like a man
With hair on the back,
She'll crush you in her embrace.

Though the wind may whisper and moan sometimes,
We all need a kind place to live.
Though the wind may whisper and howl at your door,
We all need the comfort of friends.

Baby, don't you drive around with Dr. Bernice,
That ain't a real cadillac.
It's a delta '88, spray-painted black,
With fake leather seats from Juarèz.

Though the wind may whisper and moan sometimes,
On a hot desert night it is still.
Though the world may whisper and howl at your door,
You're not obliged to let them all in.

Baby, don't you drive ride in that faux cadillac,
If you must, please ride in the back.
If you sing while you ride you'll be a siren tonight,
Spare this poor sailor's life from the rocks

Though the wind may whisper a melody now,
We can't find a tune of our own.
Though the world may whisper and blow in your face,
and tangle the hair on your head.

On a hot desert night,
We can drive down the road
And the stars will spell out your name.
On a hot desert night,
With the windows down wide,
The sirens will sing me their song.

And the ghosts of the sailors
who died on the rocks
Feel not a twinge of regret.
Though the wind may tangle the hair on your head.
You sing like a siren to me.

On a hot desert night,
The caravan stops at the oasis next to your heart.
The soundtrack is played by some aged British queen
on BBC Radio One.

Though the wind my whisper an epic sometimes,
the cast must include Karen Black.
Though the symphony strings shift with the sands,
You sing like a siren to me.

You sing like a siren to me.
You sing like a siren to me.
You sing like a siren...
To me.