I break the glass and look for water Sop it up with a rag and swallow shards Cry for help, answer: do it yourself It never lasts, these routine hard-ons For self-inflicted feather and tar Cry for help, answer: do it yourself And I'll keep riding these expectations Unsure of in whose mind the thought resides 'Cause I'm not quite right If you need to find help from anyone Well I'm not quite right And as I choke, not from a smoke But from the fragments in my throat I'll hope for comfort in strangers' eyes