Baby, baby My car's on empty And I've got no wires in my legs Baby, baby My car's on empty And I've got bad weather in my bed There is passion in the slaughterhouse When you're receiving messages from the dead I, shoot into my mouth to receive comfort When your ghost becomes so permanent We were hooked up to electrodes in captivity And they studied the effects policy The built the worst climate for us to use birth control And they laugh as we reproduce like thieves Baby, baby My car's on empty And I've got no wires in my legs Baby, baby My car's on empty And I've got bad weather in my bed