Fastfood Widow

My stomach

Dance wobbly

Tiny folds of skin

It's my own fault

And his fault and love

I want fries and meat

With a bun, soft and sweet

I don't like bread made out of cauliflowers

Flowers

Fastfood widow is who I am

Can't do anything

I am going for some gland

Only roasted

Only roasted

Only roasted

Only roasted

Salted

Doesn't help

Makin' love

Exercise and stuff

It's my own fault

And his fault and love

I want to smoke and soar

Lay down on the floor

I don't like running three times a week

In an hour, an hour

I want to smoke and soar

Lay down on the floor

I don't like running three times a week

In an hour, an hour

I'm okay

I'm okay (Holding)

I'm okay