Fix My Blues - Adam Green

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

And 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