From where I’m sitting
(over here, on the fence),
this is how I see it:
Poisons, pretty poisons, sweet heart attack,
in bubblegum pink and bombazine black.
Belladonna, belladonna, cyanide style,
arsenic lips and strychnine smiles.
Boys and girls, dropping like flies.
That stuff is pesticide,
it’s sad but it’s true,
in strawberry red and antifreeze blue.
I’m not against it, just afraid,
and scared and scarred and thrilled.
But there’s no escaping the simple fact:
we love then we get killed.
Poisons, pretty poisons, cyanide style,
That’s the price we’re to pay to be alive for a while;
a twist of the tongue and a turn on the rack,
in bubblegum pink and in bombazine black.