You’re so clean and quiet/ You’re a woman’s weekly diet
Instant coffee kisses will shake me awake
The mini-golf is waiting and we’ll go roller-skating
When we’re ten pin bowling my soul sings/ as those pins are scattering my heart is battering against all those white picket fences that lie in my chest
You’re an appliance-wielding Goddess smoking cigarettes and heating frozen food
A nymph so domesticated/ every time I masturbated I just thought of you
Suburbia
People in the mood ought to praise you in the food court
You’re the pagan Goddess of KFC/ oh how you’re taunting me with secret recipes
Filling me with awe at the mystery of you
You’ll walk your dog and then maybe we’ll jog in our matching tracksuit top and pants
We’ll go to a bar in your Mum’s landcruiser and then none of us will dance
In Suburbia
Your Mamma is button-sewing/ Pappa is ride-on-mowing on a Sunday afternoon
And you’re there consoling with remote-controlling of Lisa McCune
In Suburbia
