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The pearls will drop at the end of the line every morning. Just a little bit |
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Closer, and with a loose touch I'm here to watch you. Let's share the stare |
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And turn off the radio. Downtown skies... (Play on our fears) are coming... |
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(They knew where the cancer grows) like white horse... Riders are mysterious... |
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The pearls will drop at the end of the line every morning. Just a little bit |
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Closer, and with a loose touch I'm here to watch you. Let's share the stare |
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And turn off the radio. Downtown skies... (Play on our fears) are coming... |
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(They knew where the cancer grows) like white horse... Riders are mysterious... |
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Reach out, a porcelain touch disguised with fingertips below us. Downtown |
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Skies... are coming... like white horse... riders are mysterious... (Mother of all |
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Whores, Mourn her, Dressed with pearls, Drunk with the blood of saints, she |
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Is dead and burning). |
