Man Overboard

I've been playing this song on belt-repeat for the last few days. And it doesn't even have a chorus. A classic from '85, and the only really big one from Do-Re-Mi, I think it's the anger I'm fancying, [I had a job interview on Friday, grrrrrr] but there's also a kinda Australian suburban æsthetic going on, which reminds me of storytellers like Paul Kelly and Mick Thomas.

More properly, I have a thing for the jaded rock-chick, all fucked-up and sexy like Shirley Manson, but who doesn't? Would you believe these feisty feministic lyrics were penned by a former Big M girl?

I try not to stand too close to myself.
I try not to listen to the things I say.
They say there's no such thing as self-abuse,
But you wonder how I can be trusted
If I'm finely-tuned or well-adjusted.
Oh, pity about you.
Oh, pity about me.
What’s the pity about that?
Every time she comes inside,
You had to run.
You had to run.
You wish that crush would go away.
You're not the only one.

Squinting in broad daylight,
Drumming up a conversation,
Parson's brass is pealing, appealing,
Drumming up a congregation.
Hands reaching for a glass of water,
Dry socks and razor rash,
Your shoes under my bed,
Dandruff to my cigarette ash.

I've tried to play it open-handed,
I've tried to make a fist of this.
Even when the questions are candid,
my arrows miss.
I've heard about your fragile ego,
Your shield, your sword,
What am I expected to do?
Shout "Man overboard"?

Come around when I’m asleep
Roll around and try to wake me.
That's alright, you've got to go now.
Words overtake me.
Your pubic hairs are on my pillow,
Your stubble in the sink,
Your words under my skin,
Your table manners stink.

I’m proud of all the things I love—
You want to spar for trivia.
In a vase with insincere I-love-yous,
Next door's camellias.
I'm sick and tired of this position,
Hatched underneath the wall.
A crutch under stress,
No matter when it's gone.
I'm bored, staring at the ceiling
While you point out my flaws.
I watch the wallpaper peeling
from slamming doors.
You talk about penis envy
Your friends applaud.
What am I expected to do?
Shout "Man overboard"?

Come across to other girls
Look around, start a rumour.
Tell us why things raise a smile at parties,
Like anal humour.
Are you addicted to attention?
Do you do it for effect?
Your wit out of control,
Misunderstood and hen-pecked.

As a lyrics nerd, I've been trying to nut out all the angry stuff she's getting at, but have been having trouble with the bit before the vase. If anyone has any idea what she's saying there, let me know because it's really shitting me.

And anyone know where I can get hold of a copy of The Happiest Place in Town?