I just thought it would be cool to write a song called "My baby loves the junk," so last night I did. It took me about 10 minutes, which is an all-time record. I didn't pay much attention to rhythm or, you know, quality, but I like it.

My baby means the world to me.
My baby sets me free.
Hits me like a blown-glass poet round again and don't you know it frowns again too proud to show it once again.
She's been feelin' sick to death.
I don't feel so good myself.
Buzzing sideshow to her mad parade.

My baby loves the junk.

My baby doesn't care.
My baby says the world's unfair.
Hands around her sick machine she breaks my heart when she gets clean I sound the gong and dig for teeth again.
She's been feelin' deathly ill.
I myself don't feel so well.
But I'm happy if she's here with me.

My baby loves the junk.
She loves the junk.