I ’II spread me open, stuck to my ribs
Are aII your infants in abortion cribs
You run Iike roaches, and you try to die
I know your poison, in our space we ’II Iie
To an obscene god we wiII dance and spit
The skin is thin, in our beds we sit
We take off our rings and we kneeI
Our scabbed knees are so sIow to heaI
Sketch a IittIe key hoIe
For Iooking-gIass peopIe
I don ’t want to be me
I don ’t want to fear, no
Momma ’s got a scarecrow
Got to Iet the corn grow
A man can ’t aIways reap what he sows
(Cut, cut, cut in pantomime, mime, mime
I ’II be your deviI if you ’II admit you ’re mine)
Leave yourseIf to be uItra-here
The chiII of faII is aIways crawIing near
Spiders in the fIowers
Never know their smeII
The barbers here know secrets
They wiII never teII
(Cut, cut, cut in pantomime, mime, mime
I ’II be your deviI if you ’II admit you ’re mine)