| She locked me in a basket
|
| And swallowed down the key
|
| I heard her outside laughing
|
| Like needles sticking me
|
| Well now I’m her favorite thing to stick shit into
|
| She knows the place that’s soft and deep
|
| And no-one takes it quite like I can
|
| 'Cause I’m he human pin cushion
|
| They eye me for a soft spot
|
| And she tied the torniquets in thread
|
| I’m slipping through the loopholes
|
| She’s sown inside my head
|
| Well now I’m her favorite thing to stick shit into
|
| She knows the place that’s soft and deep
|
| And no-one takes it quite like I can
|
| 'Cause I’m he human pin cushion
|
| Well if you stick me, I won’t bleed. |
| Her pin cushion
|
| I’m just a prick she she doesn’t need
|
| She styled a special pattern
|
| In my coffins upholstery
|
| I found her (and the scissors)
|
| Were in conspiracy
|
| Now I’m her… Her pin cushion
|
| Well if you stick me, I won’t bleed. |
| Her pin cushion
|
| I’m just a prick she she doesn’t need |