Blame the suits who lined their pockets with her tears
Blame the boys in the blindfolds covering their ears
Blame the magazines she read
Join the righteous waning side
It was a misinterpretation of the neon signs
It was a rainy miserable Sunday
Carried your cedar up the stairs
Collared man did his best to apologize
But the damage it was done, she believed in all their lies
I'd buy your soul, but I can't afford to pay girl
They say that you get nothing for free
Your lipstick adorns my collar
While these thoughts of fire wrestle with me
Then her father said to me
"Tom I can't ascribe a purpose to this atrocity"
Trademark my messiah and call me an orderly
I need 800 cups of Kool-Aid for my prophecy