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"
My
love
’
s
locked
up
in
a
frigidaire
,
And
my
heart
’
s
in
a
deep
-
freeze
pack
.
She
’
s
gone
with
a
guy
,
I
’
d
not
know
where
,
But
she
wrote
that
she
’
d
never
come
back
.
Now
she
don
’
t
care
for
me
no
more
,
i
’
m
just
a
one
-
man
frozen
store
,
And
it
ain
’
t
nice
To
be
on
ice
With
my
love
locked
up
in
a
frigidaire
,
And
my
heart
in
a
deep
-
freeze
pack
.
"
While
I
sat
I
stole
an
occasional
covert
look
at
the
girl
.
Her
clothes
,
or
the
remnants
of
them
,
were
good
quality
.
Her
voice
was
good
too
—
probably
not
stage
or
movie
acquired
,
for
it
had
not
deteriorated
under
stress
.
She
was
blond
,
but
quite
a
number
of
shades
sub
-
platinum
.
It
seemed
likely
that
