The Masochist

Call up the doctor my friend, I'm broken again
Just like Ms. Carfagna's jar on the shelf that just couldn't bend
I'm so overwhelmed when I'm going through I hell, I confess I'm slave to distress
I'm taking it right on the chin and I thrive in that mess

I smile to the doctor, say sir does this bus have more room
'Cause all of the ambulance rides are just more time with you

I stare at those marks on the wall, you know, the ones that you drew
Where we'd keep an injury score all bordered by shrooms
Now, I'm just the type to grow up but still poke at the bruise
Hoping it stays to remind me of days that I knew
That I'd be your fool

I smile to the doctor, say sir does this bus have more room
'Cause all of the ambulance rides are just more time with you

Now, your love ain't pain, it's just painful needing your love
So I self inflict wounds to break ground on the one that I trust