Sage: 
It's not that what we're doing is wrong 
But let's try to keep this a secret 
Between me, you, and the song 
A menage a trois that sings to me 
Sinfully 
When god plays along 

Jolie Holland: 
What you want with a woman who won't do what you say? 

Sage: 
I was sweet on her 
She was sweet on Jesus 
We slept with a blanket barrier between us 
Master of her craft, I had her laughin like hyenas 
When I asked her if she'd marry an elitist 
Staggering genius in lace 
With the grace of a drunken monk 
The mask isn't seamless cause her face says something's 
up 
But I don't dare ask her I just listen 
Switchin to my good ear and adjusting my position 
As she discusses Ginsberg I listened and learned 
As she dispersed his words I just resisted the urge to 
do like he would 
Whatever he wanted, if she allowed me to 
She dangled that carrot then asked me: 
"What would Bukowski do?" 
Oh don't go there 
He'd make you his mom and then completely lie about it 
in a book later on 

Jolie Holland: 
Got up this morning 
Didn't know right from wrong 

Sage: 
Spirits were lifted when she whispered something French 
in my ear 
Tension was there 
When I responded in English it sounded less sincere 
The sex in the air couldn't be left alone 
So welcome to the Terrordome 
A bedroom full of pheromones 
Where nothing that we say is set in stone 
If I thought it was for posterity I'd already be 
writing better poems 
Best this and best that 
Best not regret anything that ever gets said to this 
hell cat 
Creepin on all fours 
Ready for combat 
With secretive wars sneaking her claws in our contract 
Bending every which way but loose with no proof that 
anything that we've suggested to this day is the whole 
truth 

Jolie Holland: 
Got up this morning 
Didn't know right from wrong 

Sage: 
I heard her chemical romance was a medical slowdance 
Said my advance was sexual 
Held my genitals with cold hands 
Set up the Coke cans 
Broke out the Red Ryder 
Then one by one I tried to knock down everything that's 
dead inside her 
She used to treat street dividers like a balance beam 
Arms spread wider than the legs in her dad's magazine 
Re-enacting the pages that she got trapped between 
I used it for kindling and then spilled the gasoline 
Now I'm your water boy 
I fetch it from your cheeks just like tennis balls 
Smell the stench of your weakness on the bedroom walls 
Somebody careless let em vaporize 
"Who let these fall to the floor from your poor vacant 
eyes?" 
Disintegrate 
This ain't a great first impression 
But I work better on pages, they say words are my 
profession 
Let me spell it out in simple language 
Plain English 
I want your suicide to be a book of mine that I never 
finish 

Jolie Holland: 
Got up this morning 
Didn't know right from wrong 

What you want with a woman who won't do what you say?