She's the last of the American girls She puts her makeup on Like graffiti on the walls of the heartland She's got her little book of conspiracies Right in her hand She will come in first For the end of western civilization She's a natural disaster She is

This old routine will drive you mad It's just a mumble never spoken out loud So you come on home, walk through the door. She's in the kitchen searching through the drawers. So you stop and watch her and ask what she's looking for. She says she's not