| He’s the brat with the sterilized pitchfork
|
| He’s the singer of the Beachwood Sparks
|
| He’s a dreamy kind of cheesy companion piece
|
| Who wants to show me where the healing starts
|
| Beauty is evil
|
| Immaculate evil, don’t you think?
|
| But I’m lost in the flames of a grand explosion
|
| Stumbling in the neon groves
|
| Ladies flock to the overnight discos
|
| Slamming vodka tonic down their throats
|
| While your older brothers company publicist
|
| Is sliding off his momma’s pantyhose
|
| Beauty is evil
|
| Immaculate evil, don’t you think?
|
| But I’m mopping up stains from a blood transfusion
|
| Stumbling in the neon groves
|
| Oh the pleasures of the morning are simple
|
| But the treasures are the sweetest I’ve known
|
| Oh I’m just so excited to look through my new eyes
|
| The needles are covered with snow
|
| So take me down to the winterland bombshell factory
|
| You can hear the mermaids groan
|
| On the double breasted coconut seashell
|
| Half wrecked bus to Yankee Stadium
|
| Beauty is evil
|
| I like to be evil, can’t you see?
|
| But I’m lost in the flames of a grand explosion
|
| Stumbling in the neon groves |