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Must've been on mushrooms when you wrote that pile of junk.
Got rock candy brains and that head of yours, full of holes
Terry cloth's about the only comfort I'm allowed
What with all the rain and this house of yours
Full of holes
I'm about through being your plaything
I'm about through being your gin
I'm about through being your water
Do you want to spend another night under the porch?
We could light a candle and this rotten wood up in flames
Your orange fingers are glowing hot
I think your sneaker's on fire
Up in flames
One breath after lights out
The rest under night's spell
Got rock candy brains and that head of yours, full of holes
Terry cloth's about the only comfort I'm allowed
What with all the rain and this house of yours
Full of holes
I'm about through being your plaything
I'm about through being your gin
I'm about through being your water
Do you want to spend another night under the porch?
We could light a candle and this rotten wood up in flames
Your orange fingers are glowing hot
I think your sneaker's on fire
Up in flames
One breath after lights out
The rest under night's spell
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Kristin's songs often tend to be about specific events interpreted in enigmatic verse to a point that they become symbolic of larger ideas. So this could very well have a genesis from a story from her willfully homeless teenage days (read Rat Girl/Paradoxical Undressing) in which she refused shelter in a rickety house and camped out with a friend under a porch. But it also seems, to me, to be about not being able to rely on an unreliable friend (possibly a junkie) who instead relies on her and she's not going to be that persons source of amusement (plaything), pleasure(gin) and life support (water).