Come to my suburban house, I'm obsessed with your prison; come, come to my suburban house, cos, baby: I am obsessed with your prison...
Ay, Papillon, Morphea, what will happen to me, without your caresses: what's gonna happen to me?
Ay, Butterfly; Hembra; come to my suburban house in Baygon City
The neighbors don't like me, why the neighbors don't...like me? Here in my little petit-suisse of a house in Baygon City.
The neighbors don't love me, why the neighbors don't...love me? Here in my little petit-suisse of a house in Baygon Sity, but
but they're running out of silver bullets, they're, they're, they're, they're...are?
Come, please, come to my suburban house in Petit-Suisse Town
where the neighbors are getting without silver bullets
come baby, come to Wolf City
where I'm the only lamb
Baygon City, my city
in my Republican Principality devoured by the Ocean
Because: what would happen to me?
without your thunderbolts
Mariposa, what would happen to me?
...And while we dance fatal tangos
and while your stomach grumbles
and while your scary grace smiles
in the whisky of the storm and its rain and its blizzards from Avalon...
I beg for you to come, come to my suburban home in Baygon City
because I'm so obsessed with your life-jail, as with mine.
...And as the night throws a mortal jump
a tomfoolery of the G-Spot...
And as Baygon City sleeps in the night of the wet-red ovens
And as all of them are soup and broth for the Lucifer's jaws
I pray and rain with the rain. Come.
come to my petit-suisse cottage, my littlie littliest housie in my small townie
Baygon-Petit Suisse City
.
