Her is Cherry. We've just met, But already she knows me better than you. She understands me, after 18 years, But you still don't me like you ought to do. Maybe we could talk bout things if You was made of and strings. While I love her every sound, I don't know how to turn you And you're so and my pages are thin, So I got me a new best friend With a pick-up that puts you to And Cherry is her name. And I'm lonely Cherry's there And she plays along while I sing out my blues I could be crying, And you don't care You won't call back, you're stubborn as a mule. May-be we could talk things if You was made of wood and strings. You might think I've Gone too I'm talking bout My new guitar.