As you lie there on your bed |
| Beneath the face of Louise Brooks |
| With your makeup and your teddy bear |
| And your C.S. Lewis books |
| Bad seed |
| You're a bad seed |
You're a decadent in chrysalis |
| Waiting sleepily to emerge |
| When you'll visit every seedy need |
| Of your random obsessive urge |
All the ruses that you use |
| All the food that you refuse |
| All the dust and tired air that feeds Interior Lulus |
| All the poisoned attitudes |
| And the lust for the unknown |
| And the second best that devils use |
| To make this world their own |
| Interior Lulu |
| Interior Lulu |
Every rainy day by e-mail |
| As you lie there on your bed |
| Another virtual page arrives |
| There will be times when you remember me |
| Of the chapters you'll be writing |
| As the voices echo in your head |
| In the book called wasted lives |
| As you read Henry and Anais |
All the lost weekends and booze |
| All the finger-and-thumb screws |
| All the sleepless worn out blues that bruise Interior Lulus |
| Interior Lulu |
| Interior Lulu |
Use the anger |
| Paint a picture of it |
| Throw the colours |
| Use the pain, use the pain |
Scream back a brand new emotion |
| As it runs across the skin |
| Fire across paper |
| Burn and curl, burn and curl |
You thought you couldn't feel like this |
| But it's happening again and you're waking up in pain |
| Tattooed in that private place |
| Microsoft and tears |
| Intimately pierced |
Discovering and remembering |
| You felt like this somewhere before |
| Stirrin' up the bed of the river |
| Somewhere you don't like to go |
You wrote this down so many times |
| But you get up anyway and you write it down again |
| You've bored us all to death with this |
| Well who you gonna tell |
| When you've nothing left to sell |
She says she's lonely |
| She says she knows me |
| But she's a one-way street |
She told me what I already know |
If you can carry it out you can take it away |
| If you can carry it out you can take it away |
| If you can buy it, it can be bought |
| If you can buy it, it can be stolen |
| If you can break it |
| It's already broken" |
Lately, I can stand to hear other people talking |
| So many empty conversations |
| What a waste of lips |
Lately I can stand to stand on Primrose Hill |
| Look down upon the city |
| A heart pumping the roads |
In our racing stripes |
| We rejoice at being "connected" |
| Without touching |
| Thank god for the internet |
We stare at our screens |
| All our lives |
| What a waste of eyes |
| 'Till the electrical storm blows our fuses |
| And we gaze, dumbfounded, at the rain |
All the trust and tired care |
| Left to rust and go nowhere |
| All this gold beneath my skin |
| Sparklin' like sin somewhere within |
| In so deep |
| In so deep that |
| I can't sleep for these interior Lu lu lu lu lus |