You say you are turned on but since when were you unplugged
I tell you no one's watching; you dismiss me with a shrug
But I go back and check my toothbrush for hairs every morning

You want something to parade at social functions
Something pretty and of worth in your future echelons
But I've never sat in a store front window and I don't know if I could fake it now

You say I am out of hand, which is true
One thing out of your hand
Is me, your heroine

My skin reflects the lot of implanted finery
And I puke up protein and shave my ass reflexively
Magazines and gossip columns strew the coffee table like bonds

The act of sensing defines the paradigm of the other
By fitting in as such, such distinctions suffer
Taking care not to raise my voice or blush, given issue

You say I am out of hand, which is true
One thing out of your hand
Is me, your heroine

If you said you were turned on but since when were you unplugged
I tell you no one's watching, you dismiss me with a shrug
But I go back and check my toothbrush for hairs every morning
You say I am out of hand, which is true
The one thing out of your hand
Is me, your heroine

You say I am out of hand, which is true
The one thing out of your hand
Is me, your heroine

On my chest as if I'm crawling down the runway
I frost my lips and turn blue beneath the midway
I can pierce a room with my gaze and my arched back posture

You say I am out of hand, which is true
The one thing out of your hand
Is me, your heroine