|
she was hungry |
|
so hungry |
|
she was trying to think clear |
|
she kept opening the fridge door |
|
staring at the mustard and the beer |
|
then finally she went out into the rain |
|
carrying her bicycle chain |
|
and her feet were the pedals |
|
while her appetite steered |
|
and after that she just followed her nose |
|
and fate is not just |
|
whose cooking smells good |
|
but which way the wind blows |
|
she lay 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 bending |
|
like something brittle |
|
trying hard to bend |
|
she was numb |
|
with the terror |
|
of losing her best friend |
|
we never see things changing |
|
we only see them ending |
|
and some vicious whispering voice kept saying |
|
you have no choice |
|
you have.... |
|
'cause when I look at you I squint |
|
you are that beautiful |
|
and my pussy is a tractor |
|
and this is a tractor pull |
|
and I am haunted |
|
by my illicit exquisite dream |
|
but 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 |
|
slide |
|
slide |
|
slide |
|
the pouring rain is no place for a bicycle ride |
|
try to hit the brakes and you |
|
slide |
|
slide |
|
slide |
|
slide |
|
slide |
|
slide |
|
slide |
|
slide |
|
slide |