My Mechanic Is My Lover
I open my eyes
From a deep slumber
To drain them of the tears
I’ve been concealing from my lover
The bags under my eyes
Might as well be designer
I wear them so proudly
And they cost more than leather
Who I have become
He is simply a martyr
Don’t tell me a fucking thing
Lord knows I’m just a sinner
My money in my hand
That I’ve lost all control of
I’m no longer mortal
I’m a malnourished machine
My hand hands you cash
And you hand me my fortune
A verdict of misery
Distrust and distortion
When my parts no longer work
Just bring me to the motel
In Woonsocket off route 114
