If the world is nearly civilized Then I'm the red-haired faerie child Of whom the pirates prophesies Would bleed songs until the lyrics died But I've been busy with my unborn child I sent him aborted songs to wrap his unformed limbs in
I'm Grace Jones in this sin thing with my titties out prowling this tee-dot club Eyes on a Reebok thug, looking for soft boy parts to make my mattress cumfy I crush their bones into melancholy melodies As gifts for the brokenhearted girls who's stereos pump me
I'm a grown-ass woman with little girl features A Jewish cornbread macaroni pie like your Mom makes at green eyes I fall to pieces, Patsy Klein faerie preacher
I'm at the hip hop show head-bopping in the back Smoking anything that'll burn During intermission, I'm in the club bathroom Hold up in a stall praying in earnest for Jeff Buckley's return (Thank heaven for you, thank heaven for you, thank heaven for you) I'm a studio rat, designer geared, Toronto kid, Hollywood brat Bad gal, war child, bookworm, Sierra Leone activist cat I'm a wikked little gal Who don't take no back chat Unless it's in the dark I might be in the attics now But a mother fucker just moved out of Regent Park
But look into my civil eyes, really I'll sing you all some civil lies And take you from your civil lives And show you that I'm civilized Nearly, nearly, nearly
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Copy to Clipboard: If the world is nearly civilized Then I'm the red-haired faerie child Of whom the pirates prophesies Would bleed songs until the lyrics died But I've been busy with my unborn child I sent him aborted songs to wrap his unformed limbs in
I'm Grace Jones in this sin thing with my titties out prowling this tee-dot club Eyes on a Reebok thug, looking for soft boy parts to make my mattress cumfy I crush their bones into melancholy melodies As gifts for the brokenhearted girls who's stereos pump me
I'm a grown-ass woman with little girl features A Jewish cornbread macaroni pie like your Mom makes at green eyes I fall to pieces, Patsy Klein faerie preacher
I'm at the hip hop show head-bopping in the back Smoking anything that'll burn During intermission, I'm in the club bathroom Hold up in a stall praying in earnest for Jeff Buckley's return (Thank heaven for you, thank heaven for you, thank heaven for you) I'm a studio rat, designer geared, Toronto kid, Hollywood brat Bad gal, war child, bookworm, Sierra Leone activist cat I'm a wikked little gal Who don't take no back chat Unless it's in the dark I might be in the attics now But a mother fucker just moved out of Regent Park
But look into my civil eyes, really I'll sing you all some civil lies And take you from your civil lives And show you that I'm civilized Nearly, nearly, nearly
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