|
A butchers grin from ear to ear |
|
No one outside who can hear |
|
Don't you think your time has come |
|
- I hear - |
|
Powders melt inside the cup |
|
Don't you think she's drunk too much |
|
Touch the lips that blueish cold |
|
She's not too old |
|
Turn the gas on high speed |
|
Shut the windows tightly |
|
Wrap the babies safe and warm |
|
- I hear - |
|
Pull the wings off lightly |
|
Break the bones politely |
|
Don't you think the time has come |
|
To raise the line |
|
A sweethearts sharpened kiss |
|
Twenty-four marks on her breast |
|
A lover gasp rings through the might |
|
- I hear - |
|
Pull the wings off lightly |
|
Break the bones politely |
|
Don't you think the time has come |
|
- I hear - |
|
Powders melt inside the cups |
|
Don't you think she's drunk too much |
|
Touch the lips that blueish cold |
|
She's not too old |
|
Blueish eyes through the earth stare |
|
Frozen face without a care |
|
Another chance to raise the line |
|
- I hear - |
