Miss Juvenile

Well, it's a broken, convalescent world, you're salt in open sores

You live so bright and wonderfully, occupying revolving doors

You live amongst all good reflections of the past

But when your gaze looks up ahead, you feel it doesn't last

Oh, I'm curious

As to why

You're talkin' 'bout me, and you give it your best guess

You'll have to raise your voice a little louder than the next

You spin your words, and then you shoot them every way

You'll hold the trigger until your dying day