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She's got the anger of a suffragette But she's crying a river She's got the smile of a side show clown But she stands and delivers I'm drinking heavily to slur my stroll And to get some rhythm I'm on...
This is television, late night television, scripted with precision A corner store pulp fiction sits where your heart isn't And with your eyes so green, and your pinkish theme You made an old friend...
You'll never catch a penny-pinching liar off guard You can't escape the tension till it leaves you undone You can't imagine passion till your hearts become one And you can't feel rhythm until the beat...
Teen runaway, youth depraved, your time is almost here Shimmies and shakes, stands by her side And whispers something in her ear "You can't go home high, not tonight" Go man go, Saturn here...
You scream louder than fiction And you get down on your knees And tear open your heart So I can love you and your disease You lick the hand that feeds you And kiss the blade that cuts I wanna fuck you...