I must admit that when the TV set broke,
I started thinking, "Oh, what's the bother anyway?
What's the bother anyway?"
We walked down to the nearest drug store,
a bottle of aspirin and a dirty pitchfork cured
everything inside that ever hurt.
It cured everything inside that never worked.
You said you wished that you'd become an actress,
but pretty pictures in the magazines are sick.
They make you feel like shit.
The bodies that they fit
are half a serving hips.
The night dissolved and then the morning sun rose.
Open your eyes and let the color turn you black
for half a heart attack.
Let it fit you in
for cancer of the skin.
Because singing's just like death,
prolonging on your breath.
And all we are is bone;
it's friction we control.
In the coat I bought, in the coat.
In the park we fought, in the coat I bought for you.
In the dress you wore, in the dress.
In the dress you wore, with a dirty pitchfork too.
In the car we spoke and you asked...
So I drove you home and my knees...
If I called you out, would you say that you were wrong?
I can feel my hands, I can feel...
Turn the headlights down, drive along,
in the dress you wore, with a dirty pitchfork too.
