Waltz around the room, with a glaze in your stare.
In your tuxedo suit. I'll give it a name.
Lower defenses. I'll lower the casket.
Open the door. Open the grave.
Murder.
Now you're doing the waltz with your murderer.
Waltz around the room, with a glaze in your stare.
In your tuxedo suit. I'll give it a name.
Lower defenses. I'll lower the casket.
Open the door. Open the grave.
Mediocrity is the k**er.
You find yourself helpless.
Christ is not a fashion, fleeting away. Fashion…
He laid emeralds in her eyes, oh but I'd already tried.
A bracelet made of gold and scarlet thread around her wrist.
And everything was wrong so we sang sentimental songs.
Oh how seldom we belong but how elegant our kiss.
And we painted crooked lies but we danced in perfect time to a love so much refined, we know not what it is until like a dullen wine we pour into a grief we know before but it's never quite like this. Never quite like this.
All I know now is regret, it follows like a silhouette along the cobblestone behind me, but has nothing to say except to innocently ask, a voice as delicate as gla**, "Do you see me when we pa**?"
But I continue on my way.