Well there's an old man's fantasy. Put in a young girl's mouth. Like cheap pink lipstick. Smeared on her wedding dress. Will you look what you've done to her. Will you look at this disgrace. Well it's all over. Your suffering face. If we were chrome we would be rusty. If we were thirst we would be quenched. You don't need the same old rivet gun. You need a brand new wrench. Someone to pull you down on the ground. And cover you with kisses. Once I was the jewel of your heart. Now I'm only semi-precious. But if I seem so preoccupied. It's just my alibi--I'm all broken up inside. Even the words of love seem cruel and crass. When you're tough and transparent as armored glass. I prepared a bed for you. Then I sprayed perfume. Upon the wilted roses. That I'd scattered 'round the room. You came in gentle as a lamb. And turned into a terror. And you left your love and other threats. In the steam fading on my bathroom mirror. Well it's an old man's fantasy. Put in a young girl's mouth. Like cheap pink lipstick. Smeared on her wedding dress. Will you look what you've done to me. Now you've put me in my place. Oh it's all over. It's all over. It's all over. Your suffering face.