Pierrot Lunaire

The string to his head
 The boss makes it nod
 The string to his mouth
 His mum pulls for food
 The string to his soul
 It leads up to God
 But who controls
 The string to his cock?
 In the bleak midwinter
 At the bottom of the stair
 I'll set myself on fire
 Pour petrol in my hair
 If he would ever notice
 If he would even care
 I'm just so bored ...
 Football on a Sunday
 Drinks after work
 Tuesday a D.J.
 Friday a jerk
 And what really matters?
 And who really cares?
 My lover's a puppet
 Pierrot Lunaire
 In the bleak midwinter
 At the bottom of the stair
 I'll set myself on fire
 Pour petrol in my hair
 If he would ever notice
 If he could even care
 I'm so bored with Pierrot Lunaire
 Others have boyfriends
 Boyfriends who care
 Of flesh and blood
 Not string and air
 They lay them on beds
 They whisper, "je t'aime"
 They take off their clothes
 And make love to them
 One day I'll cut my arms off
 And send them to him
 I'll sever my legs
 Suspend them from strings
 I'll be Polcinella
 We'll hang out so close
 My wooden cheek
 To his wooden nose
 In the bleak midwinter
 At the bottom of the stair
 I'll set myself on fire
 Pour petrol in my hair
 As if he'd even notice
 As if he'd ever care
 I'm so in love Pierrot Lunaire
 Lysergic Lysander
 Nodding his head
 A glittery panda
 That needs to be fed
 A Cantonese opera
 Performed at the zoo
 These foolish things
 Remind me of you
 And the puppet girls kiss you
 Up there on the moon
 They must know I miss you
 Please come back soon
 In the depths of midwinter
 At the bottom of the stair
 I'm on fire
 Pierrot Lunaire
 Au clair de la luna
 I know you'll never care
 I'll set myself on fire
 Pour petrol in my hair
 If you would ever notice
 If you could even care
 I'm in love with Pierrot Lunaire
 I know you can't cry so don't even try
 When you've cried as much as me, the tears roll by
 The years rain down, the tears don't dry
 They dangle from your chin like a memory
 I passed you on the stair, you're like, I swear
 Who's been sleeping in baby bear's lair?
 How's Cruel Frederick, is anybody there?
 The Nosferatu puppet with corkscrew hair?
 The nest of baby spiders underneath the chair?
 All the survivors of the massacre
 All the little friends of Henry Darger
 Living large but dreaming larger
 Patience is a virtue and virtue is a grace
 And Grace is a little girl who slaps your face
 I know you can't cry so don't even try
 When you've cried as much as me, the tears roll by
 The years rain down, the tears don't dry
 They dangle from your chin like a memory
 All the little tears going down the drain
 Here we go again