Main song lyrics: He’s always tasted like a lazy man Stale booze and cigarettes in the back of a tour van Somehow I know she’ll do the best that she can To wipe his ass when his shit hits the fan Sometimes I wonder, has he married her yet? That pretty little thing dancing for a ring like a marionette The way she looks at me I see I’m a threat Well I’ll always be the ghost in his head He’s always tasted like a lazy man Lick up the ashes on his mattress in his bedroom wasteland Somehow I know she’ll do the best that she can To wipe his ass when his shit hits the fan A vicious trickster, a brittle biting bitch A wicked storm to fray the rigid stitch A jilted jester just pining for her prince Tangled and twisted like a ribbon in the wind Find the needle in the pile of dirt clothes In the corner all wrinkled and worn and morose Swear there’s a message in this bottle in my bag Filled with bitter little pills to kill away the sad And when I take them there’s an aching in my bones And I don’t cry but I still feel alone And I feel too alive like a ribbon in the wind Tangled and twisted, I’m drowning in my skin And we’re all just growing older As slowly as we can And the things that you hide from will find you In your bedroom wasteland. You’re on display so Rot and decay, so You’re on display, so Rot and decay. You’re on display, rot and decay Rot and decay in your bedroom wasteland! Chang'e's letter: Dear Jade Rabbit, I hate this place – I’m losing my mind without you. And this man – these people – this world – so scattered and afraid. He’s not you. I need you. He can’t be you. And when he touches me. . . I’m forgetting. . . I pretend he’s you. Dear Jade . . . (that pretty little thing dancing for a ring like a marionette) . . . Dear. . . Who? Am I talking to a ghost in my head? Dear Moon, Do you whisper to the stars? Do you frown in disappointment at all the broken hearts? And broken windows, of all the beat up cars – and the scattered tracks of needle scars. Dear Moon, And the rain, as it falls, makes a mockery of all the broken people in this town. So, bar tender, I surrender. I surrender. Pour this girl another fucking round. Dear…. Dear… Dear? Dear, oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear, what do we have here? This man he sits alone, and he’s dry as a bone, empty as the glass in front of him. Don’t worry, dear. I have it hear – let me fill you full of gin. Dear… who? Dear who? Dear… Houyi. Houyi? Who? Dear Houyi. Oh dear, Houyi. Houyi. Houyi.