Lyrics

A scapegoat in a waistcoat Selling mini plagues again There's idle speculation That I procrastinate my life away A more persistent Monday morning daze You can't bend me Or attempt to mend me You can't lend me how you're feeling When I first saw you in that attic You looked anything but ecstatic that day Why would someone leave you sitting there Right in the middle of a dead room stinking of paint? I remember just thinking you are coming home with me And ever since you've stayed in one piece Is it an illusion you're alluding to? A belly-dancing stoat Is more believable than you You can't bend me Or offend me You can't lend me how you're feeling