Intellect: twilight suicide.
Simple rhythms are the broken memories.
Room of glass scent: formaldehyde
while the pictures on the dressers hide their smiles for the agonies.
Where do you run? Where do you run?
Mothers day: celebrate dead roses.
Wine glass: takes your pain away.
Pride defies the angel's losses
but miracles turn a child's heart grey.
Whose love is on the line anyway?

She collapsed upon the bed with her hands upon her face
drinking in the carbon-layered air.
Who ate the last of this refresher course?
You're trademarked for a cure!
How can I forget you failed the most crucial of professions?
Turn down your titles as the army leaves the house--
she burns her cigarette within her skull to relive the memories
and she lies to virgin ears.

It's your choice! You're a bathing blanket!
You're a baby in her nest flown straight to the bar!
Fuck your excuses and your drying travel maps!
Take your pities and get out of the car
before they take the rest of your life away!

She's guilty, she knows.
What a pity, what a pity.
I'm sorry you're in Hell;
what a pity, what a pity.
I feel nothing now:
what a pity, what a pity
when your rotting body covers the liquor's smell.
Your metropolitan attitude drinks a goodnight,
a good-bye forever,
oh what a fucking pity.

Intellect: twilight suicide.
Simple rhythms are the broken memories.
Room of glass scent: formaldehyde
while the pictures on the dressers hide their smiles for the agonies.
Where do you run? Where do you run?
Mothers day: celebrate dead roses.
Wine glass: takes your pain away.
Pride defies the angel's losses
but miracles turn a child's heart grey.
Whose love is on the line anyway?