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Does it pay her to feed her underachiever
Wrap him in linen and send him to rest
While a man would stand trial for a slight misdemeanour
And not make a sound before the judge was impressed?
You don't need a job when you look like a dream
To a woman who lies with innocent eyes
His quiet demeanour made her such a believer
And reports of his torment let her heart sympathize
Does it fade her to need her underachiever
Controlling the child, avoiding the man
Parading in front of the friendlier strangers
Attached to the hand she knows they can't understand?
The counter is gleaming and the furniture dusted
She wants to unwind but can not find her pill
A medical cure-all from a friend that she trusted
Who shares in her errors and despairs at her ills
Sighing tells him to keep trying
Must keep substance deep in hiding
Does it pay her to breed her underachiever
Relentlessly putting his pride to the test
Reducing him down to a magazine reader
Who sits where he's told and controls even less?
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| © 2007, 2010. Words and music by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.
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