[01:43.92]She washes all the young blood from her hands in the sink
[01:48.24]And she knows that the lights will be there for her
[01:52.77]Breaks down the bodies to dark subtle ink
[01:57.57]And she scrawls on the parchments that hang in the air
[02:05.37]She rides a horse over stones in the night
[02:09.54]And she closes her eyes and lets go of the reigns
[02:14.19]She knows the radios run through the night
[02:19.86]And she knows that the lights leave the prettiest stains
[02:25.44]She builds a shrine and a typing machine
[02:30.60]And she curls up to write down her tales from the black
[02:36.54]Prays for a soft breeze and cool gentle rain
[02:40.26]And she prays for the bodies that rise slowly back
[04:11.97]She knows the dunes where the steel cities grow
[04:16.26]And she knows when they jail her they'll grind down the key
[04:22.11]She knows the lights lay the heaviest blows
[04:26.94]And she knows that the sand must submit to the sea
[04:32.79]She builds a bird out of plywood and gold
[04:39.06]For to carry the old souls on up to the sun
[04:39.99]Turns on the TV and sits in the cold
[04:48.24]And she dreams that sometimes she's the prettiest one
[04:54.18]She knows the thrill of the chase in her veins
[04:58.98]And she knows that the sinking's a trick of the light
[05:04.89]Prays for the silence and cool gentle rain
[05:09.57]And she prays that the radios run through the night