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He spoke a script
Dipped in the sort of talk to make you keep the gaze
It's all a trick
The slicked back slimy arms have got a war to wage

He's got a laugh like a crackling wire
And he wants to put the bite marks on you
He wants to put the bite marks on you
And he twists my guts

As the only thing as repelling as his invitations
Are his excuses
And he said "I am the conductor
Put me in a terror pocket"

He did a stint
Master in a craft
He'd squint through his spectacle
He'd drop a dirty hint if he thinks that he could impress you with the unacceptable

And he has turned through all the pages with his fingers
And covered them with goo
And he wants to put the bite marks on you
He wants to put them on you and it hurts my back

Because the only thing that's as heavy as the adoration
Is the days of hanging out on his own
And it's been a long-sounding alarm
And he frightened me to death
When he said "I am the conductor
Put me in a terror pocket"

'Cause he's trying to give me a ticket to a competition
And I don't know how the odds are stacked
As he's rolling out the running track

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