I can't lie on this bed anymore it burns my skin
You can take the truthful things you've said to me
And put them on the head of a pin

Poor Napoleon

You always look so disappointed when I take my stockings off
Don't you know the facts of life, boy
Don't you know what these things cost
She was selling stolen kisses to travelling salesmen and minstrel singers
You put a penny in the slot
She called you her Magic Fingers

Poor Napoleon

I bet she isn't all that's advertised
I bet that isn't all she fakes
Just like that place where they take your spine
And turn it into soapflakes

To be continued...