My heart is a black haunted loom,
|
weaving jackets for children who'll never be born.
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My hands are abandoned factories
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manufacturing heartbreak and hate for the world.
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As we waltz the broken dance of our limbs
|
this ballroom has been groped by so many evil whims.
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As I drill the last hole into you,
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the well of your body has hardened into glue.
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Everything is going to be just awful when we're around.
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All the colors gonna rot off your sight when we're around.
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I remember the day that I sold my smile to that nice couple
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who lost their first child.
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I threw in a set of sympathy,
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and a bucket of popcorn for the cemetary.
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But now my face is all fenced off, the sky is boarded up,
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the hills covered in drop cloth.
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How many chords till this song vomits out real love?
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How many feathers to pluck naked the soiled dove?
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How many whores till you send away for that trophy?
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And how many punches till you give yourself away for free?
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Because those bruises on your face look like the sun setting in disgrace.
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(From these cliffs you can see the whole city
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laid out groveling like a field of wounded soldiers.
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The billboards in heat and hissing,
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the sky scrapers stitching the gash of the earth.
|
As they waltz the broken dance of their limbs
|
their ballroom has been groped by so many evil whims.)
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Everything is going to be just awful when we're around.
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All the colors gonna rot off your sight when we're around.
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I am just a salesman pleased to meet you can I show you around.
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Every thing must go the shadows the seagulls when we're around.
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This is our shame.
|
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-----------------
|
The Shame
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| The Blood Brothers |
