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 [C7]her toe
The coroners flip coins, but still can't decide
If she's a 'silk stalking' or suicide

He ɾemembers her from the days of his life
Thought that someday she'd be [Am]the perfect wife
The girl he worked with at the high school lab
They went to [C7]lunch once, and [Bm]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 [C7]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 chemistɾy lab
His life had been drab, and [Bm]hers had been fab
Again they parted ways, he paid the tab

The last time that he saw her was [Am7]in ɾehab
He hadn't seen her since they shared the cab
Life gives us chances, but three stɾikes, you're out
And that's what this poignant song [Am]is about

Now they each sleep in their own body bag
His life was [Am7]a bitch, her demise a drag
And even in death their lives seem [A]to [C7]entwine
For one last time at the end of the line