I'm wearing cuffs, they go with my tie;
Home to the opera house, home to the sty.
You're caressing my hands, but you look pretty pissed.
I'm halfways convinced you'd be squeezing if it didn't hurt your wrists.
Those were the days, those were times of joy.
Those were the days, back when I was a boy.
I'm wearing a collar, though I'm not a dog;
Home to the opera house, home to the doghouse.
You're petting hair, though I think I know why:
You'd be pulling them out if you didn't think it looks so bad.
