What would you sell
With the glasses and suit
Heart and soul
Won't wear out
That's not enough,
I want what's inside
Take a fish fillet knife and cut right through my eyes

I'm looking for some words to call my own
Not worn out phrases and hand me downs
They'll mock me and where I stand
Bug on his back in a Corned beef can

Going under
You can feel them stripping you down
To [bad word] inside

This is the way
That the star is born
From those bits and pieces others have worn
All held together by management glue
Too much glue and the stars turn blue
Turn blue, turn blue, turn blue

Going under
You can feel them pulling you down
To the holes inside