Fix My Blues Lyrics

Ain't I fair, ain't I kind
And I'm paid to feel fine
But I haven't spent a dime since I met you
Your breasts are like two wrists that I've handcuffed to my dick
In a subculture of love and refraction

But I die every morning again
Me at my worst is fun for them
And I die with a feeding tube
While you try to fix my blues

Your city's so unclean in a Washington machine
And your face is like a cage and two of them
And your sentiment is gone and you're now enslaved by gods
While I strum my broken legs like a banjo

But I die every morning again
Me at my worst is fun for them
And I die with a feeding tube
While you try to fix my blues

But when I feel my heart retract into my soul
It makes an ego seem more valuable than gold