The world wants delicate creatures
That never rust
When with the faintest vibration
They crumble into dust
So you can keep the fresh bouquets
Lined up on your bedpost
I'm happy just to be the mulch
That made the garden grow

She's Japanese and Cherokee
And whiter than a ghost
She'll pull your hair and scratch your back
She's quite the host
She's definitely not the type
For meat and potatoes
The broke-back boys and wig-haired girls
Are scratching their elbows

The world wants strong features
That never fade
When only a sliver of us
Ever hole that ace
So you can keep making time
While your soldiers make haste
I'll be the one with a blowtorch
In a vat of toxic waste