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Walk around the room with a glaze in your stare |
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In your tuxedo suit |
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I will give it a name |
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Lower your defenses |
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Lower your casket |
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Open the door and open your grave |
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Murder |
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Now you're doing the waltz with your murderer |
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Mediocrity is the killer |
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You find yourself helpless |
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Christ is not a fashoin, fleeting away |
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He laid emeralds in her eyes |
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But I'd already tried a bracelt made of gold |
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And a scarlet thread around her wrist |
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Everything was wrong so we sang sentimental songs |
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"Oh how seldom we belong but how elegant our kiss." |
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We painted crooked lines |
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But danced in perfect time to a love so much refined |
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We know not what it is until like a dullen wine we pour into a grief know |
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Before |
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But never quite like this |
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All I know now is regret |
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It follows like a silhouette along the cobbelstone behind us |
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But has nothing to say except to innocently ask |
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Its voice delicate as glass |
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"Do you see me when we pass? " |
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But I continue on my way |
