She took her hands
and tied them to the chair again.
Bullying the new girl
right in front of me
in real-life technicolour.
You pull the pin,
her hair falls down to her knees.
Living on nothing,
fading away,
my sugar-free sugarcube.

She took a stand that time.
She took a stand like little Miss Piggy.
She stood her ground that time.
She took a swing at little Miss Piggy.
And then she found her arms again.

What are you so scared of?
What are you so scared of, Diane?
What are you so scared of?
What are you so scared of, Diane?

She slips the queue
and, keeping her head down, gets away,
hiding in the cinema aisles on her own
with legs like matchsticks.
She lifts her shirt and,
bending over backwards,
takes her time fixing her blue eyes for another day
of stretched in elastic.

She took a stand that time.
She took a stand like little Miss Piggy.
She stood her ground that time.
She took a swing at little Miss Piggy.
And then she found her arms again.

What are you so scared of?
What are you so scared of, Diane?
What are you so scared of?
What are you so scared of, Diane?

Pull your face out the mirror.
Pull up those tights with those hands.
The pain in your liver,
the cuts on your knees you can't stand.

What are you so scared of?
What are you so scared of, Diane?
What are you so scared of?
What are you so scared of, Diane?