You Can't Handle Me.

If the world is nearly civilized
Then I'm the grey-haired faerie child
Of whom the pirates prophesized
Would bleed songs until the lyrics died

I'm Grace Jones in this sin thing with my titties out prowling this Vancity club
Eyes on a Reebok thug, looking for soft boy parts to make my mattress cumfy
I crush their bones into melancholy melodies
As gifts for the brokenhearted girls who's stereos pump me

I'm a grown-ass woman with little girl features
A Italian Irish French bagette like your Mom makes
at green and brown eyes
I fall to pieces, Patsy Cline faerie preacher

I'm at the indie show head-bopping in the back
Smoking anything that'll burn
During intermission, I'm in the club bathroom
Hold up in a stall praying in earnest for Jeff Buckley's return
(Thank heaven for you, thank heaven for you, thank heaven for you)

I'm a studio rat, designer geared, Vancouver kid, Hollywood brat
Bad gal, war child, bookworm, Sierra Leone activist cat
I'm a wikked little Grrl
Who don't take no back chat
... Unless it's in the dark.

Take me/Please me/Love me/Break me.
I'm having an Affair with Words...
Drink the intoxication, Let it steep.
You've caught my Fascination...
Now let's see if Yours to Keep.