| She wasn’t always in the design
|
| But my prototype kept her in my mind, glued
|
| So deep in the grooves
|
| You’d think she was pulling the levers
|
| But she wasn’t always in the design, no
|
| She gets in my head and screws it all up
|
| But she knows damn well, I can’t get enough
|
| A flick of the wrist, a twist of the tongue
|
| Don’t care if it’s wrong, I can’t get enough of it
|
| My mind’s a boom town blazing with thought
|
| Plans change, how strange, it’s just like the locks
|
| Keep it inside and suck on the sleeve of my sweater
|
| Meanwhile outside, I’m tarred and I’m feathered
|
| It’s all the same to me
|
| It’s all the same to me
|
| It’s all the same to
|
| She gets in my head and screws it all up
|
| But she knows damn well, I can’t get enough
|
| A flick of the wrist, a twist of the tongue
|
| Don’t care if it’s wrong, I can’t get enough of it
|
| She wasn’t always in the design
|
| But my prototype kept her in my mind
|
| So deep in the grooves
|
| You’d think she was pulling the levers
|
| She wasn’t always in the design |