|
What will you sell |
|
With the glasses and suit |
|
Heart and soul |
|
It won't wear out |
|
That's not enough |
|
I want what's inside |
|
Fish fillet knife would cut right through my eyes |
|
I'm looking for some words |
|
To call my own |
|
Not worn-out phrases and hand-me-downs |
|
They'll knock me |
|
In where I stand |
|
Put on its back |
|
In a corned beef can |
|
I'm going under |
|
You can feel them stripping me down |
|
To the rust inside |
|
This is the way |
|
Frankenstar is born |
|
From bits and pieces others have worn |
|
All held together by a management glue |
|
Too much glue, and the stars turn blue |
|
Turn blueTurn blue |
|
Turn blueTurn blue |
|
I'm going under |
|
You can feel them pulling me down |
|
To the holes inside |
|
I,I,I,II,I, |
|
I,I,I,I,I, |
|
II,I,I |
