From a sordid hobby, to a dying art
it used to calm him down
now he can't keep count
another one that's wasted - could've been your son
she used to come around
now it's all but drowned out
By the stale glow from the night stand
"sing for the camera" till you can't stand it
pop it open, palm to the morning
stain on the fabric of moral magic
feeling that it can't hurt
seeing that it won't work
With a chaste young body that he chased away
she used to come around
he's better off without it
(instrumental break)



switch on the mirror, you see yourself
dangling at arm's length, like someone else
you've been unmasked, hero,
and you won't last the day
Among the pile of empties is a brand new star
so used to falling down
so cradled by the sound of
Throwing up while corporate idols sing for the camera
she couldn't stand them
switch it off - no kick it over
would be too much effort and how you miss it
everything here is cursed -
all of it reeks of her