| Dinner’s getting cold
|
| You haven’t touched a thing
|
| So what’s it gonna be?
|
| I can hold out much longer than you
|
| When it’s steady, I’m just acting out my roles
|
| When you’re ready, I’ll be walking out that door
|
| And don’t call me Pretty Baby anymore
|
| Oh, foolish worker bee
|
| I’m your fucking queen
|
| Uh-huh
|
| I threw out the phone to try to get through to you
|
| The lines are down, drowned by the hum of the radiator
|
| This house is the hole that you could never fill
|
| With rose-blossomed bouquets
|
| Vanities and love seats
|
| Sad little boy
|
| I know you get confused
|
| But everyone goes through
|
| These trials of truth and self-abuse
|
| When you’re selfless, you’re so hard not to adore
|
| When you’re selfish, I just love you even more
|
| I want to help you, but you’ve got to say the words
|
| «I want to be cured»
|
| Drowned
|
| Deep in this hole
|
| We’ve dug for ourselves
|
| Throw me in
|
| Headfirst, submerged in this great depression
|
| Impoverished
|
| And impotent
|
| And don’t call me Pretty Baby!
|
| I threw out the phone to try to get through to you
|
| (The radiator hums)
|
| The lines are down, drowned by the hum of the radiator
|
| This house is the hole that you could never fill
|
| With shattered dinner plates
|
| That’s how we’ll communicate
|
| Hey, Pretty Baby, are you ready for bed? |