Wild vanilla
Clean dreams, downcast eyes
If you lived here you'd be home now and suicidal
That was one striking phone call boy
Your voice at a fever pitch
And here I thought that you'd just,
Full of white noise, called to bitch
You messing with my head makes a terrible noise
Wild vanilla
Clean eyes and greasy hair
Cross an ocean and you,
Vague and itchy, belong there
You are whizzing past my ears
A shit-scared domestic god
You make the gypsy in me horny for a flower garden
You messing with my head makes a terrible noise
