Must have been on mushrooms when you wrote that pile of junk
Got rock candy brains and that head of yours, full of holes, full of holes
Terry cloth's about the only comfort I'm allowed
What with all the rain and this house of yours, full of holes, full of holes
I'm about through being your plaything
I'm about through being your gin
I'm about through being your water
Do you want to spend another night under the porch?
We could light a candle and this rotten wood, up in flames, up in flames
Your orange fingers are glowing hot
I think your sneaker's on fire, up in flames, up in flames
I'm about through being your plaything
I'm about through being your gin
I'm about through being your water
One breath after light's out
The rest under night's spell

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