You tell no-one, nobody. Beating on you, no defenses. False faces, bloody wallet. Ripping out your head, put on my clothes. No, I wouldn't want you. Where the blood is all washed off.
There's a woman sitting in a motel room counting minutes. and she's adding to her list of, "one hour loves.". She's tired and the new will do, she'll replace the body,.
I'm not impressed, I guess I'm not impressed. With which dialect, which dialect marches best. And who reaches Heaven, in what order. When our kids are baptized in mortar.