| The butter melts out of habit
|
| The toast isn’t even warm
|
| The waitress and the man in the plaid shirt
|
| Play out a scene they’ve played
|
| So many times before
|
| I am watching the sun stumble home in the morning
|
| From a bar on the east side of town
|
| And the coffee is just water dressed in brown
|
| Beautiful but boring
|
| He visited me yesterday
|
| He noticed my fingers
|
| And asked me if I would play
|
| I didn’t really care a lot
|
| But I couldn’t think of a reason why not
|
| I said if you don’t come any closer I don’t mind if you stay
|
| My thighs have been involved in many accidents
|
| And now I can’t get insured
|
| And I don’t need to be lured by you
|
| My cunt is built like a wound that won’t heal
|
| And now you don’t have to ask
|
| Because you know how I feel
|
| You know how I feel
|
| Art is why I get up in the morning
|
| But my definition ends there
|
| And it doesn’t seem fair
|
| That I’m living for something I can’t even define
|
| There you are right there
|
| In the meantime
|
| I don’t want to play for you anymore
|
| Show me what you can do
|
| Tell me what are you here for
|
| I want my old friends
|
| I want my old face
|
| I want my old mind
|
| Fuck this time and place
|
| The butter melts out of habit
|
| You know, the toast isn’t even warm |