Woorden: Throwing Muses. In A Doghouse. Vicky's Box.

He won't ride in cars anymore
It reminds him of blow jobs that he's a queer
And his hair stuck to the roof over the wheel
Like a pigeon on a tire goes around

And circles over circles and he's a queer
And his hair on the roof
Like a pigeon goes around

Says he's a man and his eyes
And his hair and his eyes
Say he's a man

He won't ride anymore
He won't ride anymore
He won't ride anymore

Home is a rage feels like a cage
Home is what you read
How you breathe,
Home is how you live

I feel boxed in
I feel boxed in
I feel boxed in
Think I'll be all right

Home is where the heart lies
The heart lies, the heart lies
Welcome home, welcome home
Welcome home, welcome home
Welcome home

It's under the strangle of winter
I only love pieces of things that I hate
Like this box, this piece of roof
I can't grasp, can't see true

A piece of past
Days like today
Like a decade ago
Painful to remember like today

I've been here another year, another day
Ocean waving flies and a child
Girl you complain
To kiss the rotten broken knee

You may be dreaming
You may be bleeding
You may be in this box

A kitchen is a place where you prepare
And clean up
Clean up
Clean up
Clean up