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I met her down at the apothecary |
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Her sad sad eyes, the burden she carried |
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Oh darling, try this one if you need a friend |
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I've got the cure for the shape that you're in |
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When you met me you were numb from the voice in your head |
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Conspiracy delusions that your boyfriend kept fed |
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I sewar I want nothing, just give me your hand |
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I've got the cure for the shape that you're in |
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With her saccharine luster, she's a hard little pill |
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But she eased me and taught my hands to be still |
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Just once in the morning, and evening again |
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She had the cure for the shape I was in |
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All delusions of grandeur, they've long left my head |
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As I gave up the notion that I've been well bred |
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First she shot me with whisky, then chased me with gin |
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But swore I was the cure for the shape she was in |
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Then she left me here reeling with that time-release feeling |
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Like a long wisp of hunger, I swung from the ceiling |
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So if you see me down at the apotheceary again |
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I can't find a cure for the shape that I'm in |
