He wakes himself up with a monkey wrench, straightens out his spine
He does it all the time, everytime
No matter how hard he may scrub, he's just rubbing it in
He washes his hair with a bar of soap, but it doesnt get it clean

Its like a smack in the face, or a shot in the arm
He doesnt appear to help but he doesnt do any harm
He'd rather just sustain in his comfortable routine
His comfortable routine and a mad magazine

Chorus:
He's got a ball point pen tattoo on the skin streched across his bones
Theres nothing worse than being in a crowded room
And feeling all alone
He's got a ball point pen tattoo on the skin streched across his bones
Theres nothing worse than being in a crowded room
And feeling all alone

Sits on the curb from dusk till dawn, he's peeling off his core
Ripped up and torn
Its better living through chemistry, its an escape
Its a vulnerability, and then the twilight comes