| She was hungry so hungry
|
| She was trying to think clear
|
| She kept opening the fridge door
|
| Looking at the mustard and the beer
|
| Then finally she went out into the rain
|
| Carrying her bicycle chain
|
| And her feet worked the pedals
|
| While her appetite steered
|
| After that she just followed her nose
|
| And fate is not just whose cooking smells good
|
| But which way the wind blows
|
| She laid down in her party dress and never got up
|
| Needless to say she missed the party
|
| She just got sad
|
| Then she got stuck
|
| She was wincing like something brittle trying hard to bend
|
| She was numb with the terror of losing her best friend
|
| But we never see things changing
|
| We only see them ending
|
| And some vicious whispering voice
|
| Keeps saying you have no choice
|
| You have no choice
|
| Cuz when i look at you i squint
|
| You are that beautiful
|
| And my pussy is a tractor
|
| And this is a tractor pull
|
| I’m haunted by my illicit, explicit dreams
|
| And i can’t really wake up
|
| So i just drift in between
|
| Thinking the glass is half empty
|
| And thinking it’s not quite full
|
| The pouring rain is no place for a bicycle ride
|
| Try to hit the brakes
|
| And you slide
|
| And you slide
|
| And you slide |