the market research 

they're so fond of that 

those beady eyes 

the velvet tea cups 

the arms on the maps 



I'll never know just what I'm doing 

I'll never know what is it 

I never know what is wrong with you, you know 

it feels so bad 



the foreign films 

the skin and matter 

the thoughts on the shelf 

the level head 

the endless shovel 

the fat on the lap 



I'll never know just what I'm doing 

I'll never know what is it 

I never know what is wrong with you, 

you know it feels so bad 



You know it feel so bad 

yet it seems so right 

you point out every mistake and complain every night 



I'll never know just what I'm screwing 

I'll never know what is it 

I never know what is wrong with you, you know 

it feels so bad 



You know it feel so bad 

yet it seems so right 

you point out every mistake and complain every night