in one room they fight to the death
with toasters pulling sparks out of walls
and telephone chords ringing
right round your neck
when Picasso called i didn't know
how to say you're not home
so i told him to just leave his name
and your mama called
your cat died
the leaves swept
and it turns out
the doctor swears you didn't
overdose you're sick from shame

pocket full of pages
but you've got nothing left to say
so why don't you take
those broken lists
and go away

the couch is sitting pretty
and you're sitting so pretty too
there is no way in hell
i'd fix this place up for you
you kick the door open
just hoping for someone
to stand there that cares
i can't say much for the masses
but i won't be there

a silhouette so gross
it made everybody sick
and still you felt the need
to talk all about it

in one room...