Ain't I fair, ain't I kind
And I'm paid to feel fine
But I haven't spent a dime since I met you
Your breasts are like two wrists that I've handcuffed to my dick
In a subculture of love and refraction
But I die every morning again
Me at my worst is fun for them
And I die with a feeding tube
While you try to fix my blues
Your city's so unclean in a Washington machine
And your face is like a cage and two of them
And your sentiment is gone and you're now enslaved by gods
While I strum my broken legs like a banjo
But I die every morning again
Me at my worst is fun for them
And I die with a feeding tube
While you try to fix my blues
But when I feel my heart retract into my soul
It makes an ego seem more valuable than gold
And I die every morning again
Me at my worst is fun for them
And I die with a feeding tube
While you try to fix my blues