she yelled “fuck you, franz” from the back of the ambulance
but she whispered “i’ll still fuck you” the next time we danced
so i took the chance
i don’t think that i was wrong
she broke my nose, and i bled on her nightgown
she took pictures, we did it with the bloody silk still on
you think anything was wrong?
sometimes i ain’t quite right, but it ain’t the same as being wrong
i could say that i still love her, but what do i know about love
except love songs
all i know is what i once saw in a girl or two
and what they once thought about me
she said “i’ll cut you if you don’t come see me
or if you prefer, i’ll cut you if you do come see me”
do you see what i mean?
you see what i mean?
“will i see you in texas?”
“if you’re lucky cowboy”
“how about new orleans?”
“i got chased out by the flood
could be i’ll be in baltimore by fall”
maybe i don’t know anything at all
there was a florist from outside san diego, a politician’s daughter
a slovene punk with one gold tooth her gypsy grandma bought her
one ukranian squeezebox player, one half-mexican ballet dancer
a music journalist or two, two korean preacher’s daughters
a cartoonist with a thing for knives, an activist, and someone’s wife
out of these i’m trying to make a life
out of these i tried to make a life
i know this song may not paint me in the best light
but i’d rather come off honest than come off right
i do like people, i want them to know that and to be known
but i can only say that from behind a microphone
i want to try and explain why i did the things i did
so i won’t pretend not to be the unreconstructed id
i want to try and explain why i do the things i do
’cause up here in these hot lights it’s just between us two
