You hold me like a steering wheel Tight and defensive, now this is living. Lucky I'm compulsive, or you'd live in squalor Without humor, good cooking, or exotic pets. Brass snooze button, and neon collars Sometimes I think I could iron the horse. Running, bent at the heel and frothing Racing head long into the next turn. When I said I do, you did, then so did I Again, and again, and again, I feel rice. Up my nose and down my bra, what kind of virgin runs with a point? I'm not out to change a thing, but the Channel, and your mind.