Based on Portugal 1997
Everything I say has a subtext
Everything I say is quite complex
Everything I say is about sex
So says my new shrink, he’s called Dr Freud, so, er...
I talk ’bout my dad (“We’re in love with our own fathers”)
I don’t mean to (“Cos such feelings are forbidden”)
Every ex I’ve had (“Daddy’s face in every lover”)
Seems they’re him, too (“Every cock you’ve ever ridden”)
Surely that’s quite bad (“We’ve not started on your brothers”)
And obscene, too (“Filial love is often hidden”)
When I ask him why (“We must always blame our mothers”)
He can’t look me in the eye
His words confuse me. Wouldn’t say I’m sold
That every boy I see I’m putting daddy in my hole
None of this is my fault. I ask ’bout my role
Too soon – Dr Freud says there’s so much more…
’Parently my mouth’s (“Everything we swallow’s phallic”)
Mum’s vagina (“Every mouthful’s daddy’s spawn”)
When I suck a dick (“Mother-daughter bonds are Sapphic”)
It’s to spite her (“Every woman is a whore”)
She deserves our shame (“Oedipean castigation”)
Not desire (“The reverse of penis envy”)
Says the Book of Freud (“Psychosexual masturbation”)
He might have a point, but…
I think he’s confused. I came so I could try to
Start treating a fear that’s been haunting me since childhood
But he drones on ’bout sex, Greek love and fancying dad
Sure puts ‘anal’ in ‘psychoanalyse’
I don’t understand who all of this applies to
Since incest and dicks have fuck-all to do with darkness
For that’s my fear – not sex or cocks or channelling mum
But Freud, he sees cocks god damn everywhere
Except in himself – he’s a cock, too