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Spy, spy, pretty girl |
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I see you see me through your window |
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Don't turn your nose up |
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Well, you can if you need to, you won't be the first or last |
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It must strain you to look down so far from your father's house |
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And I know what a louse like me in his house could do for you |
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Well, I'm the cream, yeah, of the great Utopia dream |
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And you're the gleam, yeah, of the great Utopia dream |
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I'm a phallus in pigtails, and there's blood on my nose |
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And my tissue is rotting, where the rats chew my bone |
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And my eye sockets empty, see nothing but pain |
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I keep having this brainstorm, about twelve times a day |
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Now, you could spend the morning walking with me, quite amazed |
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As I'm unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed |
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I got eyes in my backside, that see electric tomatoes |
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On credit card rye bread, there are children in washrooms |
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Holding hands with a queen, and my heads full of murders |
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Where only killers scream |
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So now you could spend the morning talking with me quite amazed |
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As I'm unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed |
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Now you run from your window, to the porcelain bowl |
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And you're sick from your ears, to the red parquet floor |
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You should spend the morning walking with me quite amazed |
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As I'm unwashed and happily slightly dazed |
