He spoke a script
Dipped in the sort of talk to make you keep the gaze
It’s all a trick
The slicked back slimy arms have got a war to wage
He’s got a laugh like a crackling wire
And he wants to put the bite marks on you
He wants to put the bite marks on you
And you twist my guts
As the only thing that’s repelling as his invitations
Are his excuses
And he said I am the conductor,
Put me in a terror pocket
He did a stint
Master in a craft
He squint through his spectacle
He’d drop a dirty hint if he thinks that he could (can) impress you with the unacceptable
And he has turned through all the pages with his fingers
And covered them with goo
And he wants to put the bite marks on you
He wants to put them on you and it hurts my back
As (Because) the only thing that’s as heavy as the adoration
Is the days of hanging out on his arm
And he spilled with all this sounding alarm
And he frightened me to death when he said
I am the conductor,
Put me in a (the) terror pocket
Cause he’s trying to give me a ticket to a competition
And I don’t know why (how) the odds are stacked
As he’s rolling out the running track
