She left my room with barely a word
God, the way she holds it in’s like trash
Inside her jammed-shut purse
She turns so hot and cold it makes me crack
I try so hard to see her side
All I see now is her back

Matt Nathanson CD At the Point Digipak 2006 High Wire Music Acrobat 05
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She has been typecast all of her life
Daddy’s pride, daddy’s toy
The Blonde Seductress straight from Troy
I turn to her with barely a choice
Her beauty brings me healing but
Somehow I hurt her with my voice

CHORUS:

And she’s the modern Joan of Arc
And I’m the shameless patriarch
Our egos fight a distant war like
Howling tomcats in the dark
And every time we get this close
We’re haunted by our parents’ ghosts
And we try in vain to prove
Exactly which one hurts the most

I was born to a line of directors
So I learned to love command
Sometimes I get out of hand
I try so hard to think before I speak
I grovel when I cross the line
She thinks I’ve got a cruel design

Chorus

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