When I awoke I lay tied to a foreign bed.
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Inside a house sown out of human flesh.
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A palace of skin graft architecture.
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Oh desolation! I can't stand to fuck these walls.
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Desolation! I can't stand to suck these halls.
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But how do I sleep when the skin I stroke
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underneath the sheets is mannequin plastique?
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And I wonder where the girl who slept beside me has gone.
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When the faces in the photos stare with glass eyed mystique
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Tick, tick, tick, tock I watch the clock for tenderness.
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-----------------
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Time For Tenderness
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| The Blood Brothers |
