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Words and music by Michael Phillips
(c) 1997 Jive Music. Used by permission.

This song is a cynical 'settling accounts' or 'getting even' with somebody who apparently had deeply hurt the narrator, leaving him used, exploited, deceived, spat-out. In his woundedness he seems to be ready to use all affordable – verbal – means and poignancy to fight back in revenge, sneering and jeering at the woman who had completely overwhelmed him, won his love but tried to eat his soul.

You live in a self-spun world,
Almost secluded from the rest.
To conceal your mediocrity,
You pretend to be lookin´ for the best.
You make up your own reality
Guarded from the news,
Fearful they´d make you
Lose your innocence.
You don´t even care much about
Things outside your neighborhood,
For they´re beyond your comprehension
And beyond your influence.

In the morning when you´re on your beat,
You prey upon could-be victims as they linger
You use your charm so perfectly
To twist them around your little finger.
You reach out your tentacles
Like a voracious octopus,
You pump them to trace
Their weaknesses inside.
You´re a sensation-seeker,
You always want to have a ringside-seat
To watch people in struggles
They´d rather hide.

You approach those of interest in the street,
Standing with your hands in your pockets.
Then you present your tabloid wisdom
That´s so useless, why don´t you go and hock it?
You presume on their acquaintance
And try to ingratiate yourself,
Hoping to get a free ride all the way.
Careful to hush up your poor record
And your roller-coaster life,
You boast a big book of pals
And put the best of you on display.

Toying with people´s feelings
You can leave someone broken-hearted.
Thinkin´ you´d be more of a femme fatale,
You quit the game before it´s even got started.
You lure him one minute
And turn him down the next,
Dispensing your love and affection
In miserly doses.
For you it´s as simple
As the game of trick-or-treat,
And your benevolence can be won
By as little as a bunch of roses.

When you´re in a mood to stab around,
You hurt those who love you, just for kicks.
If someone´s on another wavelength,
You come down on him like a ton of bricks.
You don´t even know you may be offensive
When you shoot from the hip,
And there´s nobody anyway
Who´d lay down the rules.
You think the more you kick them,
The more they´ll love your boot,
But the main thing is they´re brought to heel,
Them lackeys and fools.

I don´t need your acceptance, I don´t need your O.K.s,
I don´t need your skin-deep emotions, I don´t need your faint praise, oh no.
I don´t need your backstairs influence, don´t need the backing of your fold,
Not your protection and compassion you threaten to withhold, oh no.

I´ve had enough of your scheming and double-talk
Of your conquering and devouring, you´re a soul-eater!
I´ve got to leave this place anyway,
Time´s run out on my parking meter.
Sometimes I curse the day I met you,
You´re more trouble than you´re worth,
And you´re not the one to be expected
To make amends.
We play in different leagues
Drag somebody else down,
Join your happy housewives´ choir
And bless your one million friends!