Sage:   It's not that what we're doing is wrong   But let's try to keep this a secret   Between me, you, and the song   A menage a trois that sings to me   Sinfully   When god plays along      Jolie Holland:   What you want with a woman who won't do what you say?      Sage:   I was sweet on her   She was sweet on Jesus   We slept with a blanket barrier between us   Master of her craft, I had her laughin like hyenas   When I asked her if she'd marry an elitist   Staggering genius in lace   With the grace of a drunken monk   The mask isn't seamless cause her face says something's up   But I don't dare ask her I just listen   Switchin to my good ear and adjusting my position   As she discusses Ginsberg I listened and learned   As she dispersed his words I just resisted the urge to do like he would   Whatever he wanted, if she allowed me to   She dangled that carrot then asked me:   "What would Bukowski do?"   Oh don't go there   He'd make you his mom and then completely lie about it in a book later on      Jolie Holland:   Got up this morning   Didn't know right from wrong      Sage:   Spirits were lifted when she whispered something French in my ear   Tension was there   When I responded in English it sounded less sincere   The sex in the air couldn't be left alone   So welcome to the Terrordome   A bedroom full of pheromones   Where nothing that we say is set in stone   If I thought it was for posterity I'd already be writing better poems   But I'm talking in extremes   Best this and best that   Best not regret anything that ever gets said to this hell cat   Creepin on all fours   Ready for combat   With secretive wars sneaking her claws in our contract   Bending every which way but loose with no proof that anything that we've suggested to this day is the whole truth      Jolie Holland:   Got up this morning   Didn't know right from wrong      Sage:   I heard her chemical romance was a medical slowdance   Said my advance was sexual   Held my genitals with cold hands   Set up the Coke cans   Broke out the Red Ryder   Then one by one I tried to knock down everything that's dead inside her   She used to treat street dividers like a balance beam   Arms spread wider than the legs in her dad's magazine   Re-enacting the pages that she got trapped between   I used it for kindling and then spilled the gasoline   Now I'm your water boy   I fetch it from your cheeks just like tennis balls   Smell the stench of your weakness on the bedroom walls   Somebody careless let em vaporize   "Who let these fall to the floor from your poor vacant eyes?"   Disintegrate   This ain't a great first impression   But I work better on pages, they say words are my profession    Let me spell it out in simple language   Plain English   I want your suicide to be a book of mine that I never finish      Jolie Holland:   Got up this morning    Didn't know right from wrong      What you want with a woman who won't do what you say?