If the world is nearly civilized
Then I'm the red-haired faerie child
Of whom the pirates prophesies
Would bleed songs until the lyrics died
But I've been busy with my unborn child
I sent him aborted songs to wrap his unformed limbs in
I'm Grace Jones in this sin thing with my t****** out prowling this tee-dot club
Eyes on a Reebok thug, looking for soft boy parts to make my mattress c**fy
I crush their bones into melancholy melodies
As gifts for the brokenhearted girls who's stereos pump me
I'm a grown-a** woman with little girl features
A Jewish cornbread macaroni pie like your Mom makes at green eyes
I fall to pieces, Patsy Klein faerie preacher
I'm at the hip hop show head-bopping in the back
Smoking anything that'll burn
During intermission, I'm in the club bathroom
Hold up in a stall praying in earnest for Jeff Buckley's return
(Thank heaven for you, thank heaven for you, thank heaven for you)
I'm a studio rat, designer geared, Toronto kid, Hollywood brat
Bad gal, war child, bookworm, Sierra Leone activist cat
I'm a wikked little gal
Who don't take no back chat
Unless it's in the dark
I might be in the attics now
But a m************ just moved out of Regent Park
But look into my civil eyes, really
I'll sing you all some civil lies
And take you from your civil lives
And show you that I'm civilized
Nearly, nearly, nearly
Then I'm the red-haired faerie child
Of whom the pirates prophesies
Would bleed songs until the lyrics died
But I've been busy with my unborn child
I sent him aborted songs to wrap his unformed limbs in
I'm Grace Jones in this sin thing with my t****** out prowling this tee-dot club
Eyes on a Reebok thug, looking for soft boy parts to make my mattress c**fy
I crush their bones into melancholy melodies
As gifts for the brokenhearted girls who's stereos pump me
I'm a grown-a** woman with little girl features
A Jewish cornbread macaroni pie like your Mom makes at green eyes
I fall to pieces, Patsy Klein faerie preacher
I'm at the hip hop show head-bopping in the back
Smoking anything that'll burn
During intermission, I'm in the club bathroom
Hold up in a stall praying in earnest for Jeff Buckley's return
(Thank heaven for you, thank heaven for you, thank heaven for you)
I'm a studio rat, designer geared, Toronto kid, Hollywood brat
Bad gal, war child, bookworm, Sierra Leone activist cat
I'm a wikked little gal
Who don't take no back chat
Unless it's in the dark
I might be in the attics now
But a m************ just moved out of Regent Park
But look into my civil eyes, really
I'll sing you all some civil lies
And take you from your civil lives
And show you that I'm civilized
Nearly, nearly, nearly